


Now The War Is Over

by DarkImago



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Breakup, Ceremonial Sex, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Fisting, HP femslash, Hate to Love, Heterosexual Sex, Lesbian Sex, Lots of Sex, Love, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgy, Pain, Pornography, Post-War, Potions, Reunion, Romance, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Tears, flagellation, muggle drugs, pansmione angst, pansmione fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22291972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkImago/pseuds/DarkImago
Summary: Completely alone for the first time since starting at Hogwarts, Hermione Granger embarks upon a torrid journey of self-discovery. Meanwhile, Pansy Parkinson is in disgrace, on probation and under curfew…
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson, Hermione Granger/own created character, Millicent Bulstrode/Astoria Greengrass, Pansy Parkinson/Padma Patil
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	1. July 1998, Hampstead Garden Suburb, North West London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you're a teenage girl, all alone in London, what would you find to entertain yourself? That locked box in your parents wardrobe might hold the answer...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have now updated and revised the first eight chapters, and added a few more, for anyone out there who may be following this naughty nonsense
> 
> This is mostly set post Voldemort, and generally follows the books for the characters' past history, with a few bits from the films where they fit my intentions. I ignore the epilogue pretty much completely. Hermione and Pansy's London life is very much based in the context of the times, and what girls of their age were exposed to, for better or worse...

“I really can’t go on like this,” mumbled Hermione Granger.

Her vision was still flickering, her body over sensitised and trembling as the incredible pleasure of orgasm faded at last. Her wet fingers slid from her pussy, the hand that had been cupping and caressing her breast fell to her side, and she lay there, the warm breeze from the open window teasing her perspiring skin into goosebumps. She was still high and floaty from the cannabis she had smoked before going back to bed, and she knew that, as usual, she was only temporarily satisfied. She no longer felt guilty in the aftermath, from the wildness of her erotic imagination, or the knowledge that she could bring herself such physical bliss. But in the last few days the fantasies were becoming more and more specific, more detailed, and went much further than ever before into what she now longed to turn into reality. Was she changing, or had she always been this way, without knowing it? Her snogs with Ron should have been earth shaking after such long wait, but unfortunately they had barely registered on the scale as nice, and had certainly not filled her with burning the desire for him she had once anticipated they would. Now she was wondering just what the fuss had been about for all those years when she still imagined that he was the only one for her. As a lifelong friend she might still want him, but no more than that. It was a shame he didn’t feel the same way, and the last time they met, Ron and his mother had made that painfully clear.

A certain amount of her current situation was, she decided, most definitely her parents fault. It had been one hell of a shock to discover they had a secret store of pornographic magazines and videos. That was weird enough, but in the same locked beige two-drawer filing cabinet at the back of mum’s walk-in wardrobe (that succumbed to Hermione’s Alohomorain a trice), she also found a soft leather sponge-bag containing little polythene baggies of marijuana and hashish, tobacco and packets of kingsize cigarette papers, and a hash pipe. An additional pouch contained several small brown bottles of a clear liquid, labelled Liquid Gold, and Quicksilver, and finally a little baggie of unidentifiable homemade looking pink pills, stamped with a leaping horse logo. The fact that it was her mum’s wardrobe made the porn in particular even more shocking, but somehow slightly more acceptable, because it meant that this evidence of moral and sexual decadence was more likely a mutual thing for her folks, not just her dad being a typical secretive male wanker. Her parents were in their mid-forties, so not actually ancient, but they had always seemed so straight, so boringly upright, and normal. At present they were still in Australia, unaware they they even had a daughter, let alone one who had been instrumental in saving the entire world from darkness and fear.

The discoveries showed Hermione how little she knew about her parents’ lives outside of their work as dentists, and their increasingly rare family holidays. Her own life, and her time as far back as she could remember, had been devoted to her studies, and since the age of eleven, to her friends and battling Voldemort too. A great deal of the time during school holidays in recent years she had ended up going to the Weasleys, or staying at Hogwarts, so her parents could have been doing anything, and she would not have had a clue. Now she came to think of it, just before she sent them to Australia, they had seemed more outgoing, talked about younger friends, their taste in clothes had changed, and they mentioned going to a club sometimes to dance. They’d also started listening to Kiss FM instead of Radio 2 in the car, with wa pretty momentous in its own way. She could only put all this together in retrospect, and realised it had to mean something, but she still wasn’t quite sure what.

She knew that many people would think it wrong of her, but for the present, she was going to leave her parents where they were. She was agonising long and hard on what to do about them. She’d had to pull off some very advanced magic to achieve their move successfully, and modify their memories while disturbing their psyches as little as possible. She had managed to secure their UK property against their eventual return, which was why she was still able to use the family home after the War. The negative side was that the longer she left it before she went to find them and restore their memories, the harder it would be reverse the very tricky spells she had performed. Already, after almost a whole year, full restoration would be extremely challenging, and indeed, the shock of the sudden change risked causing irreversible damage.

In the meantime she badly needed some me-time to try and digest the actions and results of the past year. The last seven years in fact, since she first met Harry Potter. And most importantly of all, to try and work out who she really was, outside of the Golden Trio, and where her place was in the post-war world. For the first few days at home alone, she had been amazed by the peace, and by the strange absence of yet another crisis to deal with. After she had fallen out with the Weasleys over ditching Ron, she’d hardly seen anyone at all from the magical community. Harry was wrapped up with Ginny, and had insisted on starting his Auror training straight away. He told everyone he just wanted concentrate on that, and who could blame him. At least he kept in touch via owl, which was better than nothing, but very sporadic, as he still couldn’t bear to replace Hedwig permanently.

The days of tranquility played on parts of Hermione’s mind that had not been exercised by survival or academia, and in the first downtime she had dared take since she was a little girl, she had begun to examine herself as a human being, not just a witch. It didn’t help that she kept oscillating between happiness at beginning to understand what made her tick, and misery when she realised how messed up her life was at present, and how much she was likely to lose because of what she had now discovered she probably - no, be brave, admit it - what she definitely was.

Of course she had known about sex, and more specifically masturbation, for yonks. After all, Hogwarts was a co-educational school, but wanking had been very much a boys thing as far as she and most of the other girls was concerned. If girls talked about it at all, it was generally in the context of boys, and with a sneer of disgust at the male gender’s lack of self-control in such matters. Sensibly, she had assumed that a few girls must do it too, and had sometimes heard erotically charged moans and sighs at night in her dorm, especially from poor Lavender Brown’s bed, but it was nothing that concerned a confirmed bookworm and dedicated swot like Hermione Granger.

It turned out that what she had needed was a kickstart for her libido, a strong jolt to shake her to her core. She had been repulsed when she first realised what she had discovered in the filing cabinet, before curiosity got the better of her and she began to explore the contents. First she looked at the magazines, and then the videos, more and more avidly, amazed at the sensations of hot arousal that began to course through her veins while she was just looking, not even touching herself, the visual stimulation triggered her imagination, making her blood sing and her nipples ping, until she was so aroused she almost thought she was wetting herself… In the matter of a few minutes her entire sexuality seemed to awake from its lifelong slumber. It wasn’t very long after that, that she began to understand much more clearly why she had felt almost indifferent when hunky Viktor Krum had kissed her, and even felt her tits and fingered her, because, against her expectations it wasn’t the male porn actors, the masculine bodies, the many large erect penises on display that aroused her (though she did admit that there was something rather exciting about them in some situations, especially when they erupted - but why did it generally have to be on some poor girl’s face?), but they were nothing compared to the effect that women, especially the more natural ones of around her own age, had upon her, and especially when they were engaged in what she soon found out was termed ‘girl-on-girl action’.

Whether it was Mum or Dad who favoured lesbian porn, she neither knew nor would ever dare ask, but from the first lesbian video - a fairly tame example, it transpired, compared to the rest of the tapes - her libido had taken off like a bird on the wing, and hours of each day since then had passed in hot, sweaty, self-absorbed, onanistic pursuits, as she gratefully escaped from the pain and grief of the recent past. Especially the recurring nightmares of the assault upon her by Bellatrix LeStrange. It had been, she understood even then, profoundly sexual as well as physical and psychological, and had caused more damage by far than the slowly disappearing scars on her arm. She understood now that the consummate pervert Bellatrix had seen through her heterosexual veneer at once, to the scared little lesbian hiding in her soul, and even more shockingly that the ordeal had been about the agony of withheld pleasure as much as the administration of excruciating physical pain.

The pornography broke through the protective shell Hermione had formed around herself since puberty, and she had begun to learn, with the thoroughness she always applied to new knowledge, the fantastic variety of pleasurable sensations that her body was capable of creating, without even the slightest need for magic. Finally she could begin to accept and forgive the reluctant guilty feelings of intense arousal and negative fulfilment she had hated herself for experiencing at the hands and wand of her most dangerous enemy. It had been torture in so many ways.

The same scientific curiosity and willingness to experiment had led her to try her first guilty puffs of cannabis too, and that had begun something else. Since the war, while attempting to anaesthetise the trauma in more traditional ways, she had got drunk a few times on Dad’s whiskey, but it had been nothing like this light, high, giggly, sexy pleasure that deliciously eased away the hurt in her mind, and salved the horrors that she had been through. And when she had a smoke and then masturbated… well, it stimulated her ingenuity even more thoroughly, and could make her ridiculously sensual! She dared not smoke much, she didn’t like tobacco, and mum and dad might notice that their store of dope had diminished when she eventually brought them back, as she meant to do when she was ready, but she wasn’t ready yet. Thankfully, it was powerful stuff, so for a soft-drug neophyte a very little went a long way.

By the end of June, Hermione feared that she had become a masturbation addict. Her hottest orgasms of all were when she imagined herself entwined with other girls... and since that chance sighting in a local cafe, miraculously repeated just yesterday, one girl in particular held her lustful attention, even as she had fascinated her in other ways for years.

Hermione climbed from the dishevelled double bed, dislodging the condom-sheathed courgette that had pleasured her until her spasming pussy muscles forced it out, and her fingers took over to finish the job. She blushed now to recall urgently struggling to clothe the long green veg in rubber, because of the desire for the sensations of fullness and friction she had found herself craving more and more... She slipped on Mum’s green silk dressing gown and gingerly carried the evidence of her lust to the kitchen, stripped it, washed it thoroughly, and, with a whimsical smile and a giggle of disbelief at her wickedness, she patted the courgette affectionately and returned it to the vegetable drawer in the fridge. Seeing the fridge’s contents reminded her of something else. She was starving!It was time for a stack of toast and marmite and jam and... not for the first time she guiltily wished there was a house elf to provide those things for her. Nine months on the run, being the de facto and mostly un-thanked carer for Harry and Ron had made her long for a time when she wasn’t the great provider.

As she munched her toast, Crookshanks winding himself round her ankles, begging for a buttered corner, Hermione wondered for the one hundred and forty first time already that day, if she went back to the same cafe at the same time this afternoon, whether the girl would be sitting there once more, and if she was, would Hermione have the nerve to finally reveal her new, adult self to someone she really thought, until not long ago, that she would never ever want to see again, unless they were dead, let alone... have unquenchable sexual urges for them? Was it the worst kind of luck or the best, to see her there, looking so cool, so haughty, so disdainful, and so ridiculously hot? Hermione’s gaze had furtively feasted upon her crisply bobbed black hair, the flawless pale skin... the fullness of her deep red lips. Her eyes had been hidden by impenetrable black sunglasses. She wore a black leather jacket, black miniskirt and fishnet tights over her long well-muscled legs. Shelooked unbearably cool. Hermione hid at a table behind a pillar, peeking covertly, covetously at the girl’s flawless profile, at the enticing curve of her almost supernaturally pert breasts rising and falling in the tight white tank-top she had exposed when she took off the jacket, while she listened to her companions in an elegantly bored manner... She seemed so much more sophisticated and grown up since their last encounter just a couple of months ago, Hermione in tatters from the battle, she in her school uniform? Could she really be the same girl? But the surprisingly low sarcasm-steeped voice gave the game away. It was her, there could be no doubt at all. What she was doing in a Muggle cafe in Hampstead Garden Suburb on a weekday afternoon, was a mystery Hermione longed to solve. The pattern had been repeated yesterday, and today was Wednesday the 1st of July, could she dare to hope?. 

‘ _If she’s there, I must be brave and speak to her... for better or for worse, though unfortunately it’s most likely to be worse, knowing her as I sadly do already’._ Hermione told herself. ‘ _But it’s different now, she can’t hurt me like she used to... unless... I want her too.’_ And that unexpected option slipped into her thoughts with a particularly graphic and extreme fantasy gleaned from one of the porn videos, which made her blush furiously.

‘ _Maybe it’s like they always say, opposites attract,’_ Hermione conjectured as she dressed, choosing an outfit that was noticeably sexier than the generic jeans and shirts she had worn previously to the cafe. Over her usual white knickers she slipped on a short, fairly tight white skirt that she’d never dared wear in public before, and after a moments dithering, no bra under a nicely tailored white shirt of her father’s, the tails of which she tied in a knot that exposed her slim midriff...very daring! She even applied a little makeup - some dark eye-liner and a slash of pale lipstick for what she thought might be a 1960’s look. She borrowed a squirt of Mum’s favourite perfume too, ‘CKOne... not very Mum-ish,’ thought Hermione with curiosity as the handled the bottle, she was sure mum had always used something by Dior. She was going to have to get to know her parents all over again, and she found she was had very mixed emotions about that. Perhaps she would travel to Australia and observe them in their new lives first. There was the risk that they might be happier without her.

“Crookshanks, I’m leaving you in charge, no inviting strangers in,” she said wagging a warning finger at her yawning cat. 

She left the house with her thoughts in even more of a turmoil than usual. One moment she felt mature and optimistic and very excited, the next - terrified of being harmed or humiliated, or both, as she had often been in her past encounters with Slytherin girls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published fanfic - comments crits and kudos, are extremely welcome!


	2. Pansy in Exile

There had been no choice. Father was dead, and mother was in Azkaban, awaiting trial and very probably a long sentence. Parkinson Place, her family home, had been temporarily sequestered by the ministry while they cleansed it of all evidence of the Dark Arts. Pansy Parkinson had been told that she could return there when the job was completed, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to go back to reminders of the past. At eighteen, there should have been no need legal need for the Ministry to find or advise on care for her, she should have been entirely on her own with her guilt and grief. She’d wanted to take a room at the Leaky Cauldron. Old Tom owed the Parkinsons a few favours. But due to her parentage and her behaviour at the Battle of Hogwarts, the ministry decided that she still needed supervision, and she certainly wasn’t going to get that at the Leaky Cauldron. In the end, they suggested a form of ministry devised incarceration, though not Azkaban, and if Millicent Bulstrode hadn’t stepped in, her summer would have been over before it began. Pansy been only too happy to accept her half-blood friend’s offer of a place to stay for the summer. What was unusual, and in some ways a bonus was that it was outside the usual magical communities, somewhere she wouldn’t be easily recognised, derided, insulted, or snubbed. The house, though magical now, was Muggle constructed, and despite all the recent enchantments upon it, as good as part of the Muggle world. Ironically she found that the place she had dreaded and people she had sneered at all her life had become a sanctuary. The mudbloods she had been taught to hate were now a protection of sorts from grudge-bearing magical folk.

Everyone but Millie, and somewhat begrudgingly her mother Felicity, had deserted her, even her other best girlfriend, Daphne Greengrass had withdrawn. Saddest of all was losing Draco Malfoy. Harry Potter had given evidence that both Draco and Narcissa had saved his life as well as putting him in grave danger at other times. Lucius was locked up, but they were doing all they could to restore their family name, and that did not include socialising with former friends. Despite a fair bit of past baggage between them, Millicent Bulstrode had proved to be her only remaining loyal school friend. Pansy Parkinson tried to keep her head high, because pride was all she had left. She still wasn’t sure whether she would return to Hogwarts to finish her NEWTs, though Millie said it wouldn’t be half so bad as she expected, once she was actually there, and the ministry would think better of her if she did. But Millie hadn’t offered up the Boy Who Lived to Voldemort. Oops. Even she knew that her loathing for Potter and her sense of self-preservation had gone a bit too far that time. She had only said out loud what most of her house was thinking. She was still in deep disgrace as far as the Wizarding world was concerned. The greatest humiliation had been when she’d been ceremonially un-wanded by the new Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt himself.

There was just one thing inexorably drawing her back to school like a siren call. One person, more precisely. She still didn’t know how it had happened, when she realised that it was an actual thing, but it had started at some point during their fourth year and escalated drastically in the fifth, when she was in the Inquisitorial Squad with many opportunities for persecution, and continued growing grown from there. Yes, she had become a bit obsessed with Hermione Granger. At first she just wanted to hurt her in petty ways, make her suffer for being Harry Potter’s friend and protector, as well as being an annoyingly brainy little mudblood bitch who always got the best marks, and always had her hand in the air with the right answer. Inventing a fun little hex to pull her ridiculous hair from a distance, or punishing her with House points deductions for imaginary infractions of Umbridge’s rules had just made Granger look fiercer, and resist Pansy more stringently, and that made it worse... or better, because Hermione looking ruffled and angry was very good for some reason… a reason that became clear in the summer term, as Pansy began to know herself better. Anger or excitement made Granger look sexy, and thus more desirable, and Pansy, who back then was still finding it hard to admit her growing attraction to the same sex, hated her for that, too. Until very recently she hadn’t confessed her Granger problem to anyone, not even Millie, who was openly and proudly a butch lesbian, and had been out, amongst her friends, since she was fourteen. Just after OWLs had finished, Millie had helped Pansy by practical example to better understand her choices. Solitary Granger-lust was put on hold while she tentatively and secretively began to explore lesbian sex as Millie’s latest girlfriend.

\- - - -

Millie’s London friends were gender fluid in the extreme, and they enjoyed hanging out in a large cafe on the edge of the nearest shopping parade to her home in a cleverly disillusioned enclave of millionaire’s row, otherwise known as Bishops Avenue. Amongst others, the gang included her current girlfriend Astoria Greengrass, Daphne’s younger sister, who also went to Hogwarts, but in the outside world was a tall, spectrally slim, pale, heavily made up goth girl of haunting beauty, Ariadne Baxendale, a former Ravenclaw who had been a wizard called Adrian until she began her transition to witch at the age of twenty, and several Muggles including Edward Anstruther, a gay part-time model, and Emily Wilson, a rather brainy aspiring actress who bore a striking resemblance to someone Pansy had but recently dared to admit she had feelings for.

Millie herself was pure lesbian, her generally makeup-free, strong featured darkly attractive face topped a body that, taking after her father, had been big all over since early childhood. She had recently finished a late growth spurt that had left her taller than any of her girlfriends and with an over-sized hourglass shapeliness was newly defined. Extra-large suited Millie much better now. Finally she was happy in her skin. Today, in Muggle-garb, she looked as solid as a rugby full-back in a cap-sleeved tee shirt, and over-size combat pants tucked into high top cherry red Doc Martens boots. With this lot around her, Pansy, still only tentatively out of the closet, didn’t feel weird at all. Joining the crew had been sink or swim, but it hadn’t taken her long to realise that Muggles could be just as bright and funny as pure-bloods, and often even more so. She was snorting with laughter at one of Edward’s bitchy bon mots when something or someone fleeted across her vision and then stayed. Because the newcomer had her back to the sun bright window, Pansy didn’t recognise her at first. She thought it must be Emily joining them, as she’d said she might, because the shape of her face was familiar, but her tied back hair wasn’t. Pansy flipped up her sunglasses just as the girl turned a little and a single ray from the cafe window caught her profile. Pansy Parkinson almost dropped her coffee cup.

“You!” She cried out, louder than she meant too, finding that she had half stood up, from surprise and immediately blushed to match Hermione Granger’s scarlet face.

“Yes, me.” Hermione responded, bristling with determination, staring down at Pansy, and trying not to tremble from a potent cocktail of old hatred, new fear and undeniable desire. The first thing that she noticed, after the shock had worn off a little, was that the pupils of Pansy’s sea green eyes had massively enlarged, and her mouth was now slightly open, her lips vermilion, slightly swollen, and infinitely... kissable. The fear doubled the desire. Could it really be true? This was just peculiar, but... Did Pansy Parkinson actually fancy her, too?

For several long seconds the two girls just stared at each other in a maddening complexity of unspoken emotions, that signalled the long suppressed flowering of their powerful, undeniable mutual attraction.

“Might have guessed it was both of you. At bloody last!” Millicent Bulstrode guffawed heartily, and it helped her to understand more of Pansy’s dark, secretive moodiness of the last few months, before and since the war. “Go on you two, find a table of your own and at least try to work it out,” she added firmly but quite kindly. Millie had had a crush on both girls at one time or another, and it thrilled her now to think of them together. She remembered several past tussles with the Gryffindor bitch that she had enjoyed in ways Hermione would have been disgusted by at the time, and she felt a little ashamed of now. Her knowledge of Pansy was much deeper, and more personal.

Still glaring, the Slytherin and the Gryffindor found a small table on the other side of the cafe and sat down opposite each other. For several minutes they just sipped coffee and looked at each other as hard as they could. Then Pansy pulled her shades over her eyes because Hermione’s gaze was too intense to bear unshielded. Conversation was as slow as glue. Hermione was thinking of Millicent Bulstrode’s words, and noting that she’d never heard genuinely good advice from a Slytherin before, let alone taken it. She wondered how to enact it with this Sphinx sitting across the table. Pansy was hoping Hermione wouldn’t remind her of their last encounter at the battle of Hogwarts...

“Maybe we could just begin again?” Said Pansy smiling hopefully, eventually deciding that someone had to make a move.

“Like we just met... no baggage.” Hermione picked up the offer gladly, and extemporised.

“What would you be thinking, if this was the first time we’d ever laid eyes on each other?” Asked Pansy.

“Frankly... I... I think I’d be wondering where you’d been all my life... and why I...” Hermione faltered.

“Why you fancy me?” Pansy suggested, slyly gaining the upper hand.

Hermione nodded, grinning shyly, blushing again.

“Yes, why I fancy you so much... This is a bit bloody bizarre, you have to admit.” She blurted in a hurry.

“Did you know I was going to be here?” Asked Pansy, presciently.

“Um... I wasn’t certain, but I’d spotted you in here twice before... and okay, I watched you... a bit. The first time I couldn’t believe it. The second time I believed it, but I was still scared stiff. Today I promised myself that I’d talk to you if you were here. Yes, it’s taken me this long to get my nerve up to speak to you.” Hermione admitted. “Seeing you here, away from Hogwarts looking so... um... well, to be honest...” she had to say the next bit in an urgent rush, or it might never get said at all. “Seeing you again, here, outside Hogwarts, has made me feel things I’ve never been clear about before, not properly, for anyone, boy, girl, man or woman.”

“Gosh, and there I was thinking you were set for life with the lovely Ronald Weasley.” Pansy said sarcastically, peering over the rim of her sunglasses.

“Yes, I know that’s what was expected of us, but... you know... I think the reason it took so long for anything to actually happen between him and me was... well, I suppose I sort of suspected, after Viktor, because if any boy was going to... sort of... um… light my fire... you’d think it would have been him... but everyone believing Ron and I were destined for each other kind of kept me safe from finding out anything much about myself for years.” Hermione explained earnestly. “Anyway, what about you? We all thought you were going to marry Draco Malfoy!”

Pansy snorted bitterly.

“Our parents thought so too. But in the end we were just good mates and useful beards for each other. He knew what he was from early on, I wasn’t sure about myself, but Millie helped me to work it out, and anyway, it made life easier to pretend we were a couple, and keep the other stuff under wraps at school. You of all people should know what gossip is like at Hogwarts.”

“You have no idea.” Said Hermione with conviction, trying not to glare at the girl who’d informed on her to Rita Skeeter whenever she could dream up another ludicrous and breathlessly romantic scenario for her supposed love life with Harry or Viktor. “Um... what is a beard?” She asked to change the subject before she became too irate.

“Oh you poor little thing, you really are an innocent aren’t you? A beard is someone in a fake relationship, usually for homosexuals to hide behind.” Pansy was charmed by Hermione’s naivety.

“Oh. I get it... Gods! So if you are... and Draco is… too? Sorry. Don’t look at me like that, how was I to know? I really didn’t know anything at all... not even my own... um...” She stopped for a moment and took a breath, “ _sexuality_ , not for certain anyway, until I got back here after the war. Since then it’s been a summer of revelations.”

“Really? How so? A varied selection of red hot boys and girls to help you make your mind up? Has Granger been playing the field?” Pansy smirked.

“Hardly... I... I learned that I’m... um... very probably... no… I’ll just say it… I’m like... we... are we both? Sorry... here goes again. I’m gay... and also, I finally learned... er... how to please myself.”

“Wow! Don’t hold back, eh Granger, heavy on the details there!”

“All right Parkinson, let me put it another way. So, I’m a newly identified lesbian who has spent the last month smoking cannabis and wanking herself silly to lesbian porn videos because she’s just learned how to masturbate. Okay?” Hermione blurted in a rush, a little louder than she had meant to.

Someone at a nearby table stifled a snort, and a teaspoon clattered into a saucer.

“You mean before that, you were saving the world entirely without the benefits of sex? That’s what I call altruism in its purest form. How typical of Little Miss Perfect.” Pansy snorted. Granger was irresistible. It was rather delicious to not lower her voice, and know that the eavesdroppers were making Granger uncomfortable.

Hermione’s eyes flashed furiously. Of course this was a mistake. How ridiculous to imagine that she’d get anything other than the usual snide crap from Parkinson. She snatched her beaded bag from the table and made to stand, but Pansy seized her wrist. It was like a current of pure sexual energy shooting through her. Stunned, feeling faint, she sat back down untidily, mouth open in a half-snarl, dazed and confused.

“You have no idea how sexy you look when you’re mad at me... I’m sorry Granger, I couldn’t help myself. I am trying hard, but I’m only partly reformed, you see.” Pansy apologised.

Her fingers slid down Hermione’s wrist, and somehow, a moment later, they were holding hands.

“Was that your way of coming out?” Pansy asked, gently this time.

Hermione nodded slowly, reluctantly, then more quickly as she found her pride.

“First time?” Pansy enquired.

“Ever,” said Hermione nodding again, feeling tears prickle in her eyes.

“Doesn’t feel so bad now, does it?” Pansy commented gently, moved by Granger’s vulnerability.

Hermione shook her head, and suddenly she was transfixed by the sight of her fingers entwined with Pansy’s. Parkinson was right. It wasn’t bad at all... in fact it felt... coming out to her and holding hands... felt weirdly natural.

“As we’ve known each other, pretty badly, or let’s just say we’ve been very aware of each other for years... before we screw it up by saying things we regret, we could just cut to the chase, and, you know, sort of follow our baser instincts... in a way, it’s the last thing people would expect of us... And I’ve a feeling that we are both looking to make some significant changes to our... traditional enmity?” Pansy husked with care and persuasion, leaning forwards, her voice low and quiet, her thumb caressing Hermione’s palm. She had never been more serious in her life. She lifted her sunglasses to the top of her head, like raising a portcullis.

Hermione dragged her eyes up to meet Pansy’s. Was it true? Could she really see a future in those deep green orbs? She felt more scared than brave, but fascinated, and definitely desired in a way that was making her very warm indeed. Contradictory emotions flitted across her face as she tried to find an appropriate answer.

Pansy saw Hermione’s confusion, made a swift mental calculation, and decided it was worth the risk.

“I need the loo. Come with me.” She rasped, abruptly standing, but not letting go of Hermione’s hand.

As they scrambled through the door of the nearby ladies’ toilets, they didn’t see Millie’s lubricious smile and wink to her friends across the cafe, or the wager money changing hands between Edward and Ariadne.

Pansy locked the cubicle behind them, turned, and backed Granger against the hand basin, taking her wrists, holding them to her sides so that she couldn’t be easily pushed away.

“I’ve wanted to do this for years,” she whispered.

Tenderly, tentatively at first, because she still wasn’t at all sure how Granger would react, Pansy brushed her lips lightly against Hermione’s, and finding them soft, warm and receptive, she traced their outline delicately with the tip of her tongue, and on an impulse she nibbled tenderly at Hermione’s lower lip, then she drew her head back and melted deep into fathomless brown eyes. There was a euphoric swooping sensation in her heart, and in her stomach. She heard a moan of untranslatable yearning, and wasn’t sure which of them it came from. A moment later, they took each other’s mouths with a voracious, all-consuming passion, and their hands were scrambling all over each other, urgently exploring.

This was the by far the biggest and best of the summer revelations, Hermione thought in the back of her mind, though most of her consciousness was engaged with the exquisite bliss of the first kiss she’d ever had that felt incontrovertibly right. To begin with, it was now irrefutable that Viktor and Ron had been the wrong gender, and even more importantly, they weren’t Pansy Parkinson, the girl she had once loathed most in the whole world, and now... she abandoned all thought and devoted herself to the delectable sensations of snogging and being expertly snogged.

“I’m going to make love to you.” Pansy leaned even closer purring the words slowly into Hermione’s ear; she felt a blaze of joy at the shudder of excitement and assent that formed the unspoken reply.

Pansy had been going to say ‘fuck’ not ‘make love’ but she didn’t want to scare the girl any more than she had done already. Pansy assumed rightly that she possessed Sapphic experience that Hermione did not. Experiments of a sexual nature in the girls’ dorm were much more prevalent in Slytherin than Gryffindor or the other houses, and Millie had become a determined and surprisingly seductive dyke, who had for a while kept Pansy as her acolyte, after rather sweetly taking her virginity.

“Yes... please,” Hermione responded in a tiny squeak, finally finding a remnant of her voice, her tummy flipping as she leaned into Pansy, feeling the heat of her body through thin summer clothing.

Pansy’s left hand was cupping one of her breasts through her shirt, thumb stroking back and forth over the swollen nipple, while her roaming right hand moved slowly across the smooth bare skin of Hermione’s thighs. Finding no resistance she sent it deftly sliding under her skirt, over her knickers, shaping itself to the warm mound, pressing firmly against her pussy, which was already pulsing and tingling in response. Hermione realised she was sopping wet.

Pushing heavily against Pansy’s hand, she felt herself becoming deliciously disorientated, like she’d just smoked an enormous sexy spliff. Suddenly the next step became clear to her. Yesterday she would have laughed and scoffed at the very idea of the present scenario, but that was the past, and right now she was living in the moment.

“I... I... my house is really close to here... and my parents are... they’re away...” she panted, happy to have something to offer, and that all the initiative did not rest with Parkinson, even as a impertinent finger outlined her sex through thin cotton.

“Precisely what I was hoping,” Pansy rasped, and slowly removed her hand from its hiding place. She squinted at her forefinger, which seemed to be glistening slightly. With a quizzical grin, she looked straight into Hermione’s Muscovado sugar-brown eyes, and pushed the moist finger into her slightly open mouth.

Hermione nearly fainted from the sensation of erotic surrender. She sucked gently upon the sex-seasoned finger, circling it with her tongue. She could taste herself... but instead of disgust, she found that she wanted more than anything else in the world to taste Pansy Parkinson too.

It was only the promise of even closer intimacy in more conducive circumstances that allowed them to leave the toilet without going considerably further.

“I’ll see you later, guys!” Pansy called out to her friends as she dragged Hermione from the cafe.

“Much later, I’d say ” Millie chuckled dirtily.

Pansy gave her friend a quick penetrating glare, and flipped her sunglasses back down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luckily, they don't have far to go!
> 
> Comments and kudos, very welcome!


	3. Girls Just Gotta Have Fun

The girls said very little as they walked briskly away from the cafe, away from their past, side by side, two young women with a peculiar bond and a singular purpose. Feeling very shocked with herself, but still determined, Hermione signalled the need to turn into a side street that led to another in an estate of substantial suburban detached nineteen-thirties houses. ' _Granger’s parents must be fairly well-heeled, for Muggles_ ,' thought Pansy, though it all looked rather pathetic in comparison to the splendours of Parkinson Place. She had only been in three Muggle homes and two of those in the last few weeks since she had fled to Millie’s. She still found them to be either ridiculous with their peculiar labour saving gadgets, or fascinating in their sparse modernity, or both.

When Granger opened her mouth to speak and explain, Pansy shushed her.

“We can talk about stuff afterwards,” she said a little more sharply than she meant to, and sensing a nervous pull back, she dipped her sunglasses and flashed Hermione a foxy, conspiratorial smile that almost dissolved the other girl's knickers on the spot.

Hermione felt very much the nervous but willing virgin. She fumbled with the front door key so badly her nervous fingers dropped it twice. She imagined Pansy jostling her impatiently, so she reached for her wand.

“Alohomora,” Hermione incanted, usually reluctant to use magic for mundane Muggle tasks, but she didn’t want to risk aggravating Pansy with her nerves and naivety.

The front door swung open, and jittering dangerously towards hysteria now, Hermione gestured her sworn enemy into the front hall of her middle-class Muggle home. The ‘what ifs’ flooded her brain, and before she could stop them they escaped her mouth.

“What if I’m useless in bed, what if I’ve got bad breath? What if you’ve just come here to humiliate me? What if this is all a weird dream, what if my parents come home?” She jabbered, and by the time they reached the stairs she was almost in tears.

“Hermione...” Pansy’s calm voice broke into her panic. A hand slid round her waist and pulled her close. “Really, you can leave all that nonsense behind. Because right now we are all that matters.”

“Oh Gods!” Hermione croaked, anxiety stealing her voice a moment before Pansy’s plump rosebud lips crushed against hers like ripe fruit.

The doubts dissolved like snowflakes in summer sun. At the touch of Pansy’s tongue to hers, Hermione moaned with bliss. Climbing the stairs became a challenge of logistics. How to keep on kissing for as long as possible as they ascended from step to step, while impatient hands fought against confining clothes? Hermione’s skirt was the first to fall. Halfway up, Pansy broke the kiss and took charge, pushing Hermione the rest of the way, noting that Granger really did have a fantastic little arse, with firmly bulging cheeks that made her think of wicked things, of punishment and redemption, of dark arts that had little to do with magic...

On the landing Hermione recovered enough to almost run to her parents bedroom, where she’d been sleeping since she’d discovered their sex and drugs secrets. For one thing, they had a bedroom TV... _Oops!_ Deeply embarrassed, Hermione remembered that there was a rather kinky lesbian tape still in the machine, paused after she had come from her pre-lunch session, what felt like a lifetime ago. She had forgotten to turn it off! She was even more embarrassed to see that the image of two girls sixty-nining still filled the screen, though actually it could have been much worse. The room still smelled of hashish and sex. There was a half-smoked joint in the ashtray on the bedside cabinet. Her mum’s large bright pink vibrator and an open bottle of baby oil stood next to it.

Pansy Parkinson let out a low whistle, and grinned with delight.

“Not so innocent after all, Granger,” she said with dirty laugh, observing the evidence of Hermione’s self-indulgence.

Confidently, having smoked a fair amount of Muggle dope with Millie, she picked up the joint.

“Incendio!” She snapped, and fire leaped from her pointed finger to light it, using one her valuable store of wandless spells. She inhaled deeply.

“Nice... I didn’t expect you to have such relaxed attitudes towards Muggle potions,” she commented, exhaling a cloud of sweet smelling smoke.

Hermione was still blushing and once again confused and uncomfortable in the face of Pansy’s sangfroid. However, she had just learned a very good way to quell those feelings. To give herself courage, she plucked the spliff from Pansy’s fingers, took a big hit from it, put it back in the ashtray, exhaled, and then drew her close for a kiss. Their lips met, and her heart hammered at the amazingly potent power of their connection. They finished the joint between kisses. Hermione’s confusion soon went up in smoke as they subsided gradually onto the bed, fumbling fingers removing final garments, covering newly exposed skin with a myriad kisses and caresses.

“Gods, you’re gorgeous!” Pansy breathed as the shirt fell from Hermione’s shoulders. She held Hermione’s small but perfectly formed breasts reverently, before bending her head to draw a puckering pink nipple into her mouth. Hermione arched her back, gasped, felt the pleasure suffuse her body, and began to relax as her nipple swelled. She wanted to remember every detail and second of this moment.

Pansy knew sex with girls, though only with one girl really well, and a bit with another. She was still very fond of Millie, and they certainly had known how to make each other cry out with pleasure enough to need the Muffliato charm, but they’d never had this instant near mystical rapport, something so far beyond her past experience it was like a brand new emotion. She didn’t know if she liked it entirely yet, it might make her vulnerable, and liable feel too much. Then Hermione’s hand slid down dizzyingly between their stomachs, under the elastic of Pansy’s thong, and slim surprisingly deft fingers sought her opening. Pansy Parkinson bit her lower lip and quivered as Hermione discovered that she too was wet, swollen, pulsing.

“Oh fuck yes...ooohh... that’s very forward of you!” She exclaimed, feeling the eager digits a little too hard, as Hermione’s inexperienced ministrations found their target before it was quite ready.

“Patience Granger... I’m not some random girl from those porn movies you’ve been watching... be gentle... I might seem hard as nails to you, but I am flesh and blood... Ahhh... that’s better... much better... Oh MERLIN!”

Pansy felt two fingers slide more gently this time, into her, opening the lonely place that needed a friend so badly since the war. She wasn’t like Hermione, the sort of girl to lay around wanking and getting stoned when she was at a loose end. Though she hadn’t had much comfort at all since Millie had moved her romantic interest to goth obsessed Astoria, during the Carrows’ reign of terror. A slippery thumb swirled over her clit, and she gasped, her body jolting into Hermione’s thrusting fingers. Her legs drew up and back, thighs falling apart, Hermione was looming over her, looking down, face and eyes glistening, a playful smirk, and a slightly triumphant expression on her face that was driving Pansy mad. After all these years, she was at Granger’s mercy. Granger had overpowered her without even trying. That was how much Pansy knew she not only wanted but needed the Gryffindor know-it-all.

Recalling where her imagination had gone when she sucked Pansy’s finger in the cafe toilet, the desire returned to try out the scene still frozen on the tv screen. Hermione’s palate craved it, the taste of the girl beneath her. The taste of her sex. Her pussy. Her cunt... even the words made her dizzy with lust. Cunt... so rude... so hot... a word she had hated until right now, this moment... Pansy’s Parkinson’s cunt... it sounded fantastic... and even hotter! She kissed slowly down Pansy’s body, becoming a bit nervous as she drew nearer to her goal. She had never been this physically close to anyone’s genitals before. ' _No, wait... I touched Viktor’s penis...'_ She had another quick bout of the ‘what ifs,’ but the erotic hint of Pansy’s musk in her nostrils helped to vanquish them. She was kissing down the closely clipped narrow strip of Pansy’s pubes, now... so close... and then she reached the place that begun to fascinate her as much as any subject she had ever studied. Its abilities and potential seemed endless. Until this summer, her feminism had been mostly in her head, not her body. She paused for a moment as a wave of emotion washed over her.

This was an enormous step, a statement of who and what she was. She glanced at Pansy’s face, saw the yearning, and smirked again. Then she looked at the place...

“Pansy’s cunt,” she whispered to herself delightedly. Her lips touched the coral folds, kissed them. Intoxicated by her own daring, she ran her tongue deep inside, as far as she could, pressing herself into the girl, making her cry out softly, and then slowly withdrew, dragging her tongue back out, and up, and over Pansy’s aching clit.

A few flickers, and Pansy was almost orgasmic. This was not how she had fantasised sex with Granger. Pansy had always been charge, the confident one, the teacher, slightly superior and cynical as she patiently, indulgently instructed her pupil in the ways of the flesh. And now the neophyte was already in charge, and it was both scary and rather wonderful. Pansy ran her hands into Hermione’s dishevelled mane of hair and minutely changed the position of her head, guiding it so that she was at exactly the right place. Hermione understood with true feminine instinct and lapped hypnotically at the sweet tang of her lover’s clit until tears came to Pansy’s eyes.

Gutteral, animal sounds of pleasure sprang from Slytherin lips as Hermione plunged two fingers in and out of the warm luscious clasp of Pansy’s cunt, filling her, thrusting, finding the rhythm that switched on her hips, and fucking her fast and hard. As the last vestiges of self-restraint dissolved, Pansy came, sobbing, laughing, humping her pussy into Hermione’s ruthlessly fucking fingers and flashing tongue. Oh, those waves of bliss had never been so powerful, or so sweet. Her vulva seemed to swell and blossom and grip as the deep spasms thrilled through her again and again. It was almost, but not quite, too good to be real. It was perfect.

After a blissful eternity, Hermione lapped to a halt, savouring the flavour of the juices she had made flow so freely. Pansy was delicious, just as she had hoped, just as she had expected, having tasted herself at the far extremes of stoned self-pleasure, and thankfully losing her disgust at being confronted with intimate fluids along the way. She genuinely had not anticipated that the giving of pleasure to have such an erotic charge on herself. She had forgotten her own needs, because once she had started it had been all about making Pansy come, fulfilling her, making her feel as good as she possibly could, and that had given Hermione a brand new pleasure.

“Merlin’s dodgy hairdo, Granger... where on earth... did you learn... to do that?” Pansy gasped, tremors and tingles coursing through her limbs for long minutes before she finally calmed down.

“You know what I’m like Parkinson, once I find a subject that inspires me, I have to learn as much as I can about it.” Said Hermione.

“Oh, so you don’t think the porn and drugs have helped at all then?” Pansy chuckled, gesturing at the still image on the screen, and Hermione giggled in agreement.

“Was it all right for you then Parkinson? Did I do it properly?” Hermione asked earnestly.

“Granger... it was wonderful... though... perhaps you could slow down a bit next time... it’s not a race!”  
“Sorry... I just got carried away... it’s all so new to me still. It’s only a month since I had my first orgasm... which actually happened while I was watching a lesbian video. You know, I hadn’t even seriously considered that how girls make love with each other until then, I was so stupidly innocent about stuff like that. I mean, I was aware I’d had some sort of weird negative crush on you for ages, I suppose, but I thought it was because I hated you so much for being so pretty, and... well, you know... _you_.” Hermione was gabbling from relief and happiness.

“You are priceless Granger... well I arrived by a different route, and with a little more self-awareness. I already hated you, that’s a given, but you began to obsess me a bit in fourth year, and a lot more in fifth year, when I had the chance to be evil to you, but by sixth year I knew that what fascinated me was that I fancied you rotten. That’s why I antagonised you whenever I could. To get your attention, to see those gorgeous brown eyes of yours looking angry... sometimes to watch your bum as you flounced away in those tight jeans you used to wear at weekends. Yes Granger, I’ve had it bad for you for a long time... being a decadent Slytherin of course I was becoming more sexually sophisticated than a brave little Gryffindor lioness like yourself. Millie took my cherry when I was sixteen, she’s... there a lot more to her than being a big girl who...”

“She beat me up in second year!” Hermione protested.

“You were being insufferably smug because you knew your hexes better than she did!”

“And the times after that?”

“She had a crush on you, stupid! You really have no idea how these things work, do you? Especially after the Yule Ball, you haven’t a clue how jealous we were...”

“I couldn’t help it that Viktor fancied me, I was more shocked than anyone!”

“Gods Granger, we weren’t jealous of you, we were jealous of Viktor! The male half of the school and all of the closet dykes fell for you that night, in that dress, they could suddenly see what Millie and I, and to give him some credit, Krum had been seeing in you, and you didn’t have a clue, did you?”

Hermione shook her head, struck dumb with surprise.

“After that, if you’d had the slightest self confidence, you could have had dozens of boys and almost as many girls vying for your attention.”

“Um... Pansy... in case you hadn’t noticed, my attention was pretty well taken up with other stuff, like... study, and...”

“Yeah, I know, saving the world from evil.”

The girls stared at each other hard, Pansy electrified by a flash of the legendary Granger temper that always thrilled her so much.

“You’re trying to provoke me, aren’t you?” Hermione asked rhetorically, after an uncomfortable stand-off.

Pansy grinned. “Mea culpa,” she agreed.

They settled into each other’s arms. Hermione still couldn’t quite believe that stuff about being the one everyone fancied at school. Hermione had always thought of herself as rather plain. But  
Pansy... ‘wow... isn’t it amazing that a girl like her finds me attractive?’ She thought. Almost absentmindedly she slid a finger into Pansy’s soft mouth, whimpered as she felt her suck it, then eased it out, spit-wet, and a drew line down her neck to her cupcake perfect breasts, circled each nipple in turn, before resuming the route that led to the delicious orchid between her slim thighs...

“Why don’t... I fuck you, instead of trying to fight you?” Pansy croaked, overcome with desire.

“Yes please,” Hermione replied, before dissolving into one of Pansy’s special kisses.

They moved so that Pansy lay on top of Hermione, their legs entwined. Pansy pressed her thigh firmly against Hermione’s pussy, feeling the slight scratchiness and friction of her bush, and the moist kiss of her folds. She looked down at Hermione’s enraptured, pleasure-absorbed face. She was almost luminous. As her thigh rhythmically ground Hermione’s desire even higher, Pansy felt her emotions swell and multiply. She’d never known anything like this before, this sense of belonging with somebody, so perfectly tuned to every nuance of a mind and body. With a groan of erotic despair, forgetting her own words about patience and taking things slowly, she fell upon Hermione in a frenzy of fingers lips and tongue.

Hermione felt sharp even teeth nipping at her shoulder, her neck, then a nipple. It should have hurt and made her wince, but the pain was sweetened by desire, and she held Pansy’s head to her breast, willing her to do it harder. Pansy obliged, Hermione let out a little shriek, and then again, when Pansy switched sides making the erect morsels of flesh throb before raising herself on her arms again.

“So Granger likes it a little bit spicy!” She growled.

Hermione nodded fervently, not trusting her voice. Something about the blend of pleasure and pain intrigued and beguiled her.

Pansy sat up, straddling Hermione’s trim waist, and took both her nipples between her fingers and thumbs. Millie had sometimes liked it like this... she began to tug and twist the swollen nubs, taking Hermione to the edge of pain and back again, squeezing, and relaxing her grip, each time a little harder, until her victim was biting her lips, frowning and flushing from the intensity of the stimulation, but not complaining. Hermione’s eyes had become dark humid pools of sexual need. _‘Gods, she’s special!’_ Thought Pansy. ‘At last, I can really let my imagination off the leash with a girl like her.’

The daughter of generations of Slytherins, born with the soul of a Slytherin, there was darkness aplenty stored up in Pansy’s desires. Millie had uncovered the earliest hints, but most of it was waiting for the right moment, the right girl. ‘Soon,’ Pansy promised herself. ‘Very soon.’ She felt a wave of cunning and cruelty trying to overwhelm her. It would be so easy to abuse Hermione now, to override her inevitable protests, to treat her like mudblood scum...

“I could hurt you… I could hurt you so much,” Pansy husked, scaring herself while pulling hard and pinching and flicking those hard, tempting little teats…

“I know,” Hermione gasped, still offering herself, her tender breasts throbbing and glowing from the cruel treatment. There was something so voluptuous, so dangerous in this surrender, this welcome submission to whatever Pansy cared to perpetrate upon her…

The darkness was rising faster. Pansy wanted to bite, scratch, smack, spit, spank, defile… Then she looked into Hermione’s flushed, rapt, frankly adorable face, connected inevitably with her eyes, and light shone through again. This was not going to be easy, Pansy realised, loving a Gryffindor, especially one as uniquely gifted as Hermione. She had never thought they would get this far, and yet it here they were, in bed together. Pansy Parkinson was making love to Hermione Granger!

“You, my girl, are going to have to save me from myself,” Pansy said gruffly, almost in tears of frustration. She forced the darkness away, and fell upon Hermione’s breasts, loving them now, suckling upon them, making them ache with sweetness instead of pain. Her fingers walked across a smooth tummy, down, down, to the untidy thatch of damp pubes that concealed the oyster, and the precious pearl…

“Yes!” Hermione gasped, shuddering deliciously as Pansy traced the lips of her cunt with a sly, slippery finger. Apart from Viktor’s rough fumbling it was the first time she had been truly touched there by a lover, not even a gusset in the way! “Oh yes please...”

Pansy slid the finger knuckle deep... it wasn’t an oyster it was a honeypot... Granger was molten inside. She added a second finger, it slid knuckle deep too... _'She obviously has, what was is Millie calls it when she feels really horny? Ah, that’s it, she says she’s got a wide-on... A wide-on... that dykey talk Millie loves to use, to shock strangers with, boys and girls...'_ Pansy grinned to herself.

Hermione lifted her hips, seeking more, so Pansy gently insinuated a third finger, and felt Hermione squeezing onto the deeply thrusting trio.

“What a greedy girl you are, Granger... I thought you were a virgin... I thought you were all but untouched.” Pansy teased her.

“I told you Parkinson, a month of intense research and a lot of wanking has widened this girl’s... horizons.”

 _‘Uncanny,’_ thought Pansy, _‘we’re almost reading each other’s thoughts!’_

“Did you break it yourself, you know, your...”

“No, it was Viktor actually... he was rather clumsy, not like you. He was very apologetic afterwards. He didn’t try it again though... Ooooohhh... just there, just there! What’s that?”

“That’s your g-spot Granger, and you... really are a hoot!”

Pansy fucked Hermione passionately, her fingers cruising over and over the zone, making her whine and tremble. This was so good, so right, this was how sex should be... hot and wet and luscious and with someone... someone you maybe, loved? That wasn’t supposed to happen... surely this should be an angry hate-fuck, a release of tension, an exorcism at best, and yet from the moment their eyes met in the cafe they had both known it was much more than that.

Hermione felt herself rising on a spiral of ever intensifying sensation. This was so much better than masturbation! She was actually trying not to come, so that she could ride the surf of rapture for longer. When Pansy relinquished her breasts and began to kiss her way down, Hermione took over and began to twist and squeeze her nipples harder than she had dared before. Yes, there it was, that edge between pain and pleasure... ' _what a sick little puppy I am to want this feeling, to seek it out, when it reminds me of what Bellatrix did to me on that dreadful afternoon in Malfoy Manor...'_ and then Pansy’s tongue found the only recently discovered centre of her being, and Hermione screamed with joy as it did things that fingers couldn’t do. She found her hips humping to a divine rhythm, dictated by the thrusts of what felt like half of Pansy’s hand inside her pussy, while circles of gold were drawn around her clit until she knew that orgasm was approaching, and this time she would not be able to hold it back...

But Pansy could. A Slytherin wouldn’t, couldn’t give a Gryffindor what she thought was her due, not until she begged for it, anyway. Now, where was her wand? Oh bugger...

“Impedimenta!” Pansy incanted. She had been one of the first Slytherins to master a selection of wandless spells. In an instant Granger was immobilised completely. By sweet coincidence she was giving her nipples a squeeze at the time.

“What I love with this curse,” said Pansy smugly, “is that you can feel everything, but you can’t move... and as you can’t move, you can do nothing to make yourself come, but you will be subject to every sensation apart from orgasm, because your nerves...” Pansy grazed her tongue slowly over Hermione’s clit, “are still as alive as ever!” She laughed as she saw the effect of her tongue and her words in Granger’s wonderfully expressive eyes.

It was hellish, it was exquisite, it was cruel, and loving, both subtle and harsh. It was very Slytherin. It was a form of torture, and Hermione knew torture too well. But where Bellatrix had used pain as her key weapon, Pansy used pleasure. Bellatrix had died never knowing exactly how close she had come to delivering Hermione Granger’s first and what would also have been her last orgasm. She had certainly known how her infernal, genius level use of certain aspects of the Cruciatus curse had found and exploited Hermione’s inner pervert, the lesbian submissive masochist lurking in the dark shadows of her soul. Bellatrix had determined Hermione’s weakness, and toyed with it, playing her like a cat with a mouse, not unlike what Pansy Parkinson was doing right now. But Harry and Ron had appeared in time to save Hermione from a climax that would certainly have killed her, while there was no one here to save her from Pansy. Not that Hermione feared for her life this time, nor did she want to be saved! She still felt a weird kind of guilt that a sick little part of her had regretted Harry and Ron’s intervention, because she had been left teetering, unfulfilled, on the brink of something that had promised to be revelatory, as well as fatal.

And then Parkinson brought her back to the present, to the holy throb of fullness in her pussy, the sting of pain from her nipples, the starbursts of rapture every time Pansy’s tongue flicked her ludicrously sensitive clit.

Pansy raised her head, and the edge-of-heaven feeling relented slightly.

“You really are a natural at this stuff, aren’t you Granger? Millie said you were probably repressing it cos you’re so prudish... and she’s got a kind of sixth sense with these things. I find that I have to agree with her.”

Her head dipped again, and Hermione was transported back to that terrible, wonderful place on the very edge of ecstasy and sanity. She couldn’t even cry...

Pansy spent long minutes turning Hermione into a creature entirely ruled by her overpowering sexual longings, by her need to achieve the impossible. Only when the blaze of hope was about to be replaced by despair in her victim’s eyes did Pansy relent.

“Okay, you’ve earned this one, Granger,” she said begrudgingly, but with some admiration, and she set her tongue to work in a final frenzy before: “Relashio!”

The forced stillness was suddenly gone, and Hermione screamed so loud at the sensation of relief that she had to clamp her own hand over her mouth. Then Pansy sucked on her swollen clit, flurried it with her tongue, reached deep with three fingers and Hermione was poleaxed by an orgasm more powerful than anything she had ever imagined. She felt everything, all at once, the spasms in her cunt spat hot fluid onto Pansy’s face, her clit seemed to take off like a skyrocket full of ecstasy that burst in convulsions of gold and silver sparks, which amazingly became real magical sparks before her astonished eyes, and floated in the summer air, winking and flashing. Without even thinking, she directed the sparks to Pansy’s sex, and her brand new lover shouted with rapture as orgasm seized her too, and she caught the rebound of some of what Hermione was feeling, and was truly amazed.

Hermione had read about multiple orgasms, and thought she might have had one or two while experimenting on herself, but this was way beyond wanking, this was deep sex magic, and she could hardly wait to learn more about it.

At last, her limbs stopped shaking, and her pussy reluctantly let Pansy’s fingers go. Hermione realised that she was crying, Pansy was holding her, stroking her, kissing her softly, as gentle as she had been cruel just minutes ago.

“What in Merlin’s name are you, Hermione Granger?”

“I’m just a Muggle girl.”

“Though I’m still reluctant to actually admit it, you really are the brightest witch of our generation... and in my newly-formed opinion, the sexiest, too.” Pansy said, and kissed Hermione on the tip of her nose.

She was a tiny bit resentful, but amused too, and then Hermione’s expression of pleasure made her feel as tender as a lightly bruised rose petal.  
Pansy was trying to make sense of it all when a marvellous if terrifying idea struck her like sledgehammer between the eyes. It was several minutes before she dared to voice it.

“Er... Hermione... to be honest, which you may think is a first for me, I’m feeling rather strange... extraordinary, and new, actually,” she confessed, snuggling closer, wanting to feel as much of her skin as possible in contact with the girl in her arms, just in case that privilege was withdrawn once she’d had her say.

“Me too, Pansy. For one thing, you just called me Hermione, and it didn’t sound even the slightest bit sarcastic!”

“And you called me Pansy... not Parkinson, without sounding angry... or even a teeny bit pissed off. That means something too, I think...doesn’t it?”

“It means a lot... You and me... gosh! This is so wrong it’s gone all the way round the world and back again.” Giggled Hermione, caressing the sweet curve of Pansy’s hip, and understanding her dilemma with a surge of happiness. “So it must be right... Shall I say it first? Will that make it easier for you?” She asked, more seriously.

“No, I think I can manage. Let’s just see how it sounds. I hope you believe me. Here goes. Hermione Granger, I love you.”

“It sounds... beautiful... And I really do love you too, Pansy Parkinson! So does that mean we both believe in miracles now?”

Face to face, closer and closer until, noses rubbing gently, the girls shared their first true love kiss.

Later that evening, long after strip-mining the last remnants of food from the fridge, and realising they were still hungry, the girls reluctantly left the house.

“Do you have any money?” Hermione asked as they walked towards an Italian restaurant she had been to often, with her parents.

“Only Galleons,” said Pansy.

“It’ll have to be my treat then, but I’ll need a cash point.” Said Hermione.

Thanks to Harry’s personal intervention, the Ministry of Magic had given her a generous temporary compensation for their mistreatment of her during the war, and paid some of it into her Muggle bank account, because she’d spent almost all the sterling she possessed keeping the golden trio afloat while they were on the run. Without any support from her absent parents she would soon have been destitute, or forced to take a Muggle job. She was very grateful that Harry had thought of that, amongst everything else that was being demanded of him at the moment. She was slightly distracted, not sure if she should hold Pansy’s hand in public. In Soho it would be fine, perhaps in Camden or Islington too, but out here in the suburbs, would it be too daring? She accidentally on purpose brushed shoulders, just for reassurance that Pansy was there, her very first and only proper girlfriend.

Pansy was as intrigued as Arthur Weasley would have been at the workings of the ATM.

“It just gives you money?” She asked, shocked.

“It’s my money, and I have to have special secret code to get it.” Hermione explained.

“How does it know it’s your money? How does your money get here? No don’t answer that. Muggle studies was never exactly my favourite subject.”

“Hogwarts is going to run a special Muggle studies crash course next year, perhaps you...” then she saw Pansy’s expression and quickly abandoned that one.

“Have you heard of computers?” She changed tack.

“Yes, Millie’s Squib cousin got one, but he keeps complaining that whenever she’s nearby her thaumic field interferes with its circuits, or some gibberish like that.”

“Have you any idea what they can do?”

“Thankfully, not a clue.” Said Pansy, with a look of distaste.

“It’s a computer telling the machine to give me the money.”

“You’re doing it already.”

“What?”

“I really don’t hate Muggles anymore, but I’m not ready to be lectured on the benefits of studying them to prove it. I’m a cautious convert, I’m not about to become an evangelist for the cause. Okay?”

Pansy glared At Hermione, and then wished she hadn’t, because Granger looked so crestfallen. She found Hermione’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Just give me time... Slytherin bitch princess to goody two-shoes is a long journey,” she said apologetically.

Hermione gave her a look of such gratitude and affection it almost made Pansy cry.

They reached the restaurant and Hermione had to force herself to try not to help Pansy understand everything. They were greeted by a slightly dreamy waitress who reminded them both of Luna Lovegood, and with a similar instinctive perception to the brave and eccentric Ravenclaw understood they were a couple, and gave them a table in a quiet corner without prompting. An hour later, filled and calmed by wine, seafood spaghetti for Hermione, lasagne for Pansy, and salad for them both, the two young women lazily fed each other spoonfuls of Tiramisu and played footsie under the table. When Hermione paid, and left a generous tip, the waitress said she hoped they’d have a great night, she sounded entirely sincere.

It was only when they left the restaurant that Pansy broke the news.

“I’m really sorry about this Granger, but I won’t be able to stay the night with you.”

Hermione was devastated.

“I have to sort of report in to Millie’s mother every evening, then she lets the ministry know that I’m behaving myself. It’s a thing they came up with for the children of death eaters. Even though I’m over age, they’re keeping tabs on all of us for a while. Can’t say I blame them, I’d have probably put myself under lock and key.”

“There must be some way...”

“And if there is, I’m sure you’ll find the relevant statute and quote it at Madam Bulstrode first thing tomorrow morning!” Pansy laughed, trying to cheer Hermione up.

“And what’s more, I’m probably going to have to listen to Millie doing the do with Astoria Greengrass for half the night, while I imagine you in bed playing with yourself...” her voice had reduced to a husky purr that made Hermione shiver.

“I don’t think that’s helping much,” Hermione giggled reluctantly. “Ooo... Astoria Greengrass and Millicent Bulstrode... the beauty and the b...”

“Careful what you say about Millie, she’s been a good friend to me, and more, but yeah, you may speculate lewdly, I, on the other hand, have no need,” Pansy chortled wryly.

“Can I walk you to your door?”

“Perhaps, if I can get you through the wards and concealment spells.”

“I’ve had rather a lot of practice at those in the last twelve months,” said Hermione darkly.

But obviously not quite enough, it transpired, to beat Madame Bulstrode’s stringent security measures, so the girls were forced to make arrangements to meet at the cafe on Saturday morning.

Hermione did lay in bed, playing with herself, but she was thinking exclusively of Pansy Parkinson. Pansy on the other hand, on her narrow divan at the far end of Millie’s huge bedroom-cum-playroom, had to listen to Astoria’s screams of pleasure long into the night, followed by Millie’s very familiar lower, but no less fervent cries as she received her due. Sometimes, Pansy reflected as Millie’s familiar moans reminded her of their better days, breaking up was harder than one expected, even when it was amicable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be posting some more chapters in the next few days - please ignore errant end note below this! It should have been on Chapter 1!


	4. Dress To Impress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you need for a big night out...

It took another two days for Hermione to glean all the details of Pansy’s semi-captivity, and it was Saturday lunchtime, with all avenues explored and questions asked that the lovers sat, a little dispirited, picking at their toasted sandwiches while mulling over the latest update.Hermione was fuming.

“So to recap, the most important bits; you can’t sleep the night in a non-magical house, but you can break curfew and go out in public as late as we like, as long as there’s a Ministry approved guardian with us...? That’s ridiculous!” Hermione complained. “Why can’t Millie approve me to stay with you? Does she still hate me? Is Madame Bulstrode so bad?”

“Actually my darling, I’d much rather stay at yours. I mean, I want you anywhere... everywhere, of course, but not so much at Millie’s. One big thing is that I don’t have a room of my own, I, not allowed one... I’m sort of tolerated to stay on a folding bed in Millie’s and anyway, I don’t think it’s quite the right place for a Muggle... one like you anyway. Madame Bulstrode is a very powerful witch... she’s a... well, it’s... complicated.” Said Pansy, evasively, then tried to sound enthusiastic. “But Millie is eighteen, so, if we can get on the right side of her, Madame Bulstrode _is_ allowed to name Millie as my guardian for a whole night... and we can still, Oh I don’t know... go out clubbing ‘til dawn, disgrace ourselves in an all night gambling den... anything really... as long as it’s not in a Muggle home.” Losing hope, she petered out into a self-pitying whinge. Then the injustice of it all hit her again. “But to actually spend the night together in bed on our own is apparently some kind of fucking crime!” She was starting to become angry.

“Well, why don’t we then, it would be better than doing nothing.” Hermione said.

“Do what, precisely, most brilliant of witches?” Pansy snarled.

“Um, go out clubbing ‘til dawn. I’ve never done that, probably because I was too...”

“...busy saving the world, I know.”

“Well, we can’t spend every evening in bed or at a restaurant.”

“Why not?”

“Pansy...”

“Okay... I’m kidding, I’m kidding, don’t hit me!”

Where would two nice lesbian girls go in London on a warm Saturday night in July 1998? Thought Hermione, leafing through the lesbian and gay nightlife listings in copy of Time Out that had been left behind by a previous customer. She felt painfully ignorant. When Edward, Millie’s gay Muggle model pal sauntered into the cafe, he saw her sitting with Pansy, and joined them. Three days in, and they were starting to establish their own lovers’ routines, though always proscribed by Pansy’s curfew.

“Ed, Eddie boy, Ted... Teddy... Edward...” said Pansy laconically, knowing it would mildly irritate and amuse the tall, slim, wavy-haired exquisitely dressed young man, a sort of camp blond Hugh Grant type. “Edward, is there a ball tonight that a couple of Cinderellas could attend and not feel embarrassed to be the most gorgeous creatures in the room?”

“Oohhh... you’re going out, can I come too?” Was the eager response.

“Only if you can help persuade Millie to come with us. She has to be with me because... well, you know, terms of probation and all that stuff.” To justify the so-called probation, Millie and Pansy had concocted a tale involving a conviction for a shop-lifting spree, so that Edward could remain blissfully unaware that he had run into a nest of witches.

Edward riffled to the clubbing pages of the magazine, found the right day, and began to read the club descriptions aloud in a breathy over-enthusiastic voice...“House Anthems are taking the roof off all over town,” he commented as he worked his way down the list. “Ooh... here’s one I’ve been to before and didn’t actually hate! Renaissance at The Cross, that’s at Kings Cross my ignorant dears. It’s not a gay night, but it is gay-friendly and frightfully glam, and the DJs and drugs are generally excellent, too... you could do a lot worse than that. If you have the right frocks.”

“Oh dear...” said Pansy with a sigh. “I foresee a problem.”

“What? Millie?” Asked Hermione making what she thought was a natural assumption.

“No my darling, not Millie, she scrubs up a plus size treat for the right party. It’s you.”

“What do you mean?’ Hermione bristled.

“I’ve looked in your pathetic excuse for a wardrobe, Granger. Apart from the gown you wore for the Yu...that Christmas party in fourth year... (and I know, ‘cos I’ve seen it in your wardrobe, that you’ve kept it ever since. You do have an alarmingly sentimental streak)... well apart from that and the fact that you long ago grew out of it, there’s nothing that even looked nice once upon a time. As dreary a selection of high street casual clothing as has ever been inflicted upon any pair of half sensitive eyes, let alone mine...”

Hermione flushed and sniffed with annoyance. The trouble was, Pansy was right. Hermione knew she was a bit of frump when it came to fashion and clothes in general. She just didn’t care enough about her appearance to try. Head to full of stuff like...

“Well, I was too busy...”

“Saving the world,” Pansy completed her sentence with a singsong phrase that had already become a lover’s in-joke whenever Hermione hinted at self-pity. Pansy didn’t do self-pity. Externally, anyway. Edward, unaware of the truth, laughed too.

“And what did you mean by drugs? Is it compulsory to do drugs at nightclubs these days?” Asked Hermione. Thanks to the contents of her parents’ leather pouch, she was a bit nervous and rather curious to find out.

“Of course not, it’s just that most people do... where on earth have you been, to not know any of this stuff?”

“Our Scottish boarding-school was very strict, and I... I suppose I led a rather sheltered life, until my parents went on their trip to Australia,” explained Hermione with disarming near honesty.

And as for drugs, well, like most students at Hogwarts she had been exposed to dozens of potions that had made her feel or become all sorts of things, though most of those experiments had been less than pleasant, and under the sneering but strict direction of Severus Snape. Whatever people took in clubs was unlikely to be more dangerous than the standard wizarding potions, or have results as spectacularly unpleasant as the Weasley twins’ Skiving Snackboxes.

“Most of us do E... that’s Ecstasy if you don’t know, a lot of Charlie gets sniffed, and loads of dope gets smoked, though that’s mostly afterwards. Charlie is a nickname for cocaine, Hermione... we don’t actually go and sniff a bloke called Charlie,” Edward explained kindly, seeing Hermione’s puzzled expression.

Pansy sniggered, she loved the way Edward teased her girlfriend.

“I quite like smoking dope,” Hermione piped up, wanting to prove she wasn’t as ignorant or uptight as Edward thought she was.

“Hermione stumbled upon her parents’ secret stash,” said Pansy, laughing.

So Hermione had to tell Edward the story of finding the porn and the drugs. It made an amusing anecdote, she realised, and she helped her friends to imagine her parents like naughty children confronted by a responsible adult. Then she missed them badly, and had to stop and take a couple of deep breaths.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I can identify your mystery substances,” said Edward, dropping his voice. “The stuff in bottles will be poppers - that’s amyl nitrate - naughty gay boys like me have a special fondness for that stuff, and the bag of pills is most probably Ecstasy, and if you’re lucky, something like Pink Callies. Sounds like your parents have the full clubbing kit... and they are away for how long?” Edward let out a happy guffaw..

“I really shouldn’t touch their stuff... what if they find out?” Hermione moaned.

Pansy grinned, Hermione was following a very Granger script, the good daughter, she’d be wringing her hands next. It was oddly entertaining to watch. “Find out what? That they have a normal teenage daughter? They are the ones with the explaining to do, besides, you’ll never be able to hide how much of their dope you’ve alreadysmoked.” Pansy opined tartly. She wouldn’t have given a damn what her parents thought.

“Actually, I’ve got a feeling that they were finding their own... er... unconventional way to combat the onset of boring middle-age... after all, they’re dentists.” Said Hermione, hoping to move the conversation on.

Pansy just managed to stop herself from asking, _‘what’s a dentist?’_ Then half remembered Granger telling her something a couple of days ago that had flown from her brain before it had even landed properly. _‘That’ll happen when you smoke a spliff in the morning, before getting your brains fucked out,’_ she thought wryly.

“Dentists... they’ll need it more than most, say no more,” sniggered Edward. “I wonder what they wanted the poppers for though? Perhaps they are adventurous dentists after all... Anyway, most intriguing!” He noticed Hermione’s puzzled face, and saw that either Pansy didn’t know either, or was deliberately making Hermione feel foolish by not saying. He suspected the latter.

“Well, for those of us who have led _extraordinarily_ sheltered lives, and this might make you blush a little, the best known reason for sniffing poppers, or amyl nitrate, is to make anal penetration easier. It can also make orgasms more intense. Hence its popularity with boys like me... and girls like... well, maybe Hermione’s mum?” He speculated cheekily.

Hermione had been trying not to blush, but remain cool, sipping her coffee; until her mum was mentioned in the context of anal sex. Caught between shock, laughter, and something more personal, she snorted coffee down her nose and coughed violently.

“Whoops-a-daisy,” said Edward, while Pansy chortled, and handed Hermione a tissue.

Edward wasn’t to know that yesterday afternoon Pansy had slipped two fingers up Hermione’s tight but willing bum when she’d been on the verge of coming, and it had tipped her over the edge very effectively. “Here’s Millie, in the nick of time... let’s try to firm up our plans,” said Pansy, a few moments later.

Millie was in an excellent mood, Astoria gazing at her adoringly after a passionate morning. She agreed that a big night out in a club would do them all good, they deserved it after the trauma of the previous months. She had told Edward there’d been a terrible fire at the their school in Scotland, and a lot of people had been hurt, which wasn’t too far from the truth to be hard to maintain.Hermione was finding the constant dissembling tricky. It had been so long since she had had any non-magical friends, she’d forgotten how to deal with the deceptions involved. She noticed that Pansy didn’t seem to be having any trouble at all, and put it down to her being a Slytherin, and therefore more accustomed to duplicity.

Instead of retreating to bed for the afternoon, Pansy dragged an unwilling Hermione down to Camden Market, to try and find a suitable outfit for the night. They strolled arm in arm through the crowded passages and alleys, dance music already pounding their ears, Pansy on the lookout for a suitable outfit for her desperately unfashionable Muggle girlfriend.

“It’s too late to arrange a hair appointment, so we’ll have to make liberal use of Sleekeazy’s, but I expect you’re used to that. Assuming you’ll have attractively gleaming tresses instead of that mad bush of yours... love it though I do...” She interjected seeing Hermione’s fragile self esteem wilting, “we’d be better finding you something classic rather than high fashion clubbing, unless you’d rather be a cyber-babe, like her...” she pointed at a girl wearing towering platform shoes, her hair in long dayglo pastel braids, on her way into somewhere called Cyberdog. Unexpectedly, Hermione visibly perked up, and made to follow her, and Pansy was sorry to have to add, “but I don’t think Renaissance is that kind of club. Let’s concentrate on something that makes the most of your annoyingly good figure.”

Hermione found it hard to receive compliments about her body, and even though the one in question would have sounded far from generous to an outsider, from Pansy it was high praise. “Well, I’m not entirely comfortable with all this fuss, but I’ll go along with it for now,” she said, pretending to be exasperated. She worried that she was going to have another bout of the ‘What-ifs,’ but just then Pansy, who had a nose for clothes like well-schooled pointer, tugged her into a deep, narrow shop beneath a railway arch. Fifteen minutes later she had not only tried on, but actually bought a beautiful pink dress with a close-fitting but low cut bodice, which was what she absolutely would not have chosen by herself, but the assistant and even a pair of random shoppers had said ‘wow!’ when they saw her emerge from the cubicle. Pansy reassured her that she looked not only chic, but also truly edible, and not in the slightest, she promised, because it made her look like a marshmallow.

“I’m going to have so much fun making over my little lioness,” Pansy purred. Watching Hermione, helping her change, simple intimate actions were making her feel fuzzy and oddly turned on. Even while doing the most mundane things, Hermione fascinated her. A real live Muggle had Pansy mesmerised, energised... she understood how serious it was when she realised that even if Hermione was just an ordinary Muggle and not a witch, it would make little difference to how she felt about her right now. She really had changed. She couldn’t wait to get Hermione home, and dress her, and then undress her...


	5. Nightlife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when you drop four hot young witches into one of London'd premier clubbing venues? Read on...

Due to many years of catching the Hogwarts Express, Hermione and Pansy already knew the Kings Cross area a little, but not well enough to guarantee a safe spot for apparition, so the girls were forced to use public transport to get there. They had arranged to meet Millie, Astoria and Edward in front of the station. Everyone was on time.

After a few minutes walk beside high dark brick walls they turned off York Way, and began to hear something over the Saturday night traffic; a deep, quick pulse of sound like an excited heartbeat. It was after 11pm, but in this part of town the night was only just opening its eyes. Hermione felt flutters of nervous anticipation as they joined a stream of young people that swelled into a flood, that poured like a convivial human tide into a cobbled courtyard with railway arches on one side, and a huge Victorian warehouse on the other. The entire place was thronging and throbbing with revellers, ravers, and pounding beats. Even Pansy found it a little daunting. But they were all gathered for a good time, that was obvious.

It was one of those perfect summer nights when it felt like anything could happen, and it most likely would. At the door of the club, a security man was about to ask Astoria her age, but one glare from Millie, the most strikingly formidable fairy he had ever seen, and he visibly backed away. Another had his hand millimetres from Edward’s pills, when Millie’s star-topped wand twitched minutely and the near-giant walked away looking puzzled. Hermione and Pansy just simpered nicely at the girl taking the money, paid their £15 each, and walked straight in. It took them several minutes to adjust to the volume of the music, the dark, the heat, the lights, and the crush of glamorous young bodies. Hermione noticed that the whole club seemed to smell of Mum’s new favourite scent, CKOne, and she wondered again how and why her mother had changed perfumes.

The friends convened in a cobbled courtyard garden with tables, chairs, the seats from fairground rides, and two huge platform beds covered in cushions. There were four arches interlinked that made up the venue. The third in line was the darkest and loudest, and already seemed to be full of dancers.

“If you’re doing a pill tonight, stick to water,” Millie instructed her crew. “And let’s make this bed our safe space. If you feel overwhelmed or dodgy, or you’ve lost everyone, come to this spot and wait, we must all make an effort to pass by here on our way to the bar, or the loo. We need to look after each other. It won’t be hard, you’ll see. Now we just need dear Edward to go and buy us that water, and we can begin to party!” She had briefed them earlier on sense and etiquette in clubland, but just wanted to make sure. Four hot young witches in a Muggle nightclub, high on E, would be something of an experiment, but she was fairly confident that they would cope. At least she had got her wand in as part of her costume. Astoria was still too young to use hers yet, but she knew that Granger would have hers secreted somewhere about her person, and as she was glued to Pansy, who had been practicing her wandless spells a lot since she moved in, they should know enough between them to look after themselves in a tight spot.

When she looked at the new couple what she felt principally was relief. Breaking up with Pansy because of Astoria had not been as easy for Millie or Pansy as either of them had pretended, with Pansy soon becoming a near friendless outcast. Millie’s feelings for her friend and one-time lover had already been changing to something more sisterly, and when Astoria, on the verge of a seducing Pansy had switched allegiance and made a play for her, Millie was happy to not have to resist her, but it couldn’t have been easy for Pansy to watch from so close at hand, Millie knew. She had been amazed and amused when she found out that a significant part of Pansy’s gradual withdrawal had been because she’d been falling under the thrall of their enemy, her opposite, Hermione Granger. But Millie had superb Gaydar, and had worked out that Hermione was more attracted to girls than boys long before Pansy or even Hermione herself had, so it made some sense. Romantically, because she was surprisingly romantic creature, she was glad that things were going well for them.

Furtively Millie extracted a pink pill, one of a pair gifted to her by Hermione, from a secret pocket in her costume, broke it in half, and as soon as Edward returned with the water, she discreetly shared the pill with Astoria. It wasn’t Edward or Millie’s first time, but it was for Astoria, and the other girls. She had advised them to swallow a half at first, and wait for a couple of hours before taking more, in case they were particularly strong.

Hermione, suffering not unexpectedly from a bout of anxiety, decided to wait, and Pansy kept her company out of loyalty.

“Let’s dance for a bit, and see how it goes,” Pansy said, needing to keep her mouth close to Hermione’s ear to combat the volume of the music.

Though she was loathe admit it even to herself, Pansy was feeling nervous too, about everything. It was all so new and scary. Being in love, out on an actual date in the Muggle world, with a Muggle girl, about to take a mystery potion with a load of strangers in a place that she couldn’t decide was heaven or hell incarnate... she was glad to be able to pretend to be the cool cynical one.

Dancing helped enormously. The music was pounding, ear splitting and joyous. It lifted them up, carried them to crest after crest. Hermione had never heard anything like it. Her tastes were very limited, though expanding a little since she came back from the last battle. The radio had helped to keep her from feeling totally isolated after falling out with the Weasleys. She had discovered that she liked Radiohead and Blur a lot, but currently her favourites were Portishead and Garbage, especially Garbage. She suddenly recognised a line from a Garbage song, Milk, and tugged Pansy’s arm.

_‘I’m waiting, I’m waiting for you…’_

“I love this one!” She yelled into Pansy’s ear.

“I love you too!” Pansy yelled back, mishearing her.

They looked at each other adoringly, kissed long and hard and when they came round a pretty girl with shining eyes was looking at them and smiling from ear to ear.

“You two look so loved up!” She yelled. “Are you on one?”

It took a moment for them to understand what the girls meant, when they did they shook their heads.

“Wow, it must be real love then!” The girl laughed. “Have a totally wonderful night, though it looks like you are already,” she added, before disappearing into the crowd.

The two witches suddenly felt much more confident and rather daring.

Hermione had broken her pills into halves at home, sensibly thinking that it would be difficult to do so in public. In a dark corner, they took a half each, and swallowed them down with water.

“There’s no going back now,” said Hermione portentously.

“You are so very right, in so many ways,” Pansy confirmed, taking another swig of water. The pill tasted disgusting.

For what felt like ages, nothing seemed to happen. They danced more, hung out in the courtyard, noticing that even though they received a pleasing amount of attention, they weren’t being hit on endlessly by the young men. They toured the club for a while, and found Millie, Astoria and Edward on the big bed, all holding hands and looking dreamy.

“I must say, your parents have excellent taste in Ecstasy,” said Millie, enunciating carefully. “This is probably the best pill I’ve ever had!”

She looked sort of shiny and sensual, her hair framed her strong jawed, attractive blue eyed face like a dark amber aura. Even as Hermione admired her, Millie leaned over, and before Hermione could stop her, she was drawn into a bear-like embrace and powerfully snogged, a large demanding tongue joining hers in a breathless sexy tussle, and all this by a girl who had beaten her up their in 2nd year at Hogwarts!

At that very moment, Hermione felt a strange rising sensation like small but pleasurable firework going off in her stomach. Not nausea, far from it, but a kind of unstoppable tide of excitement that translated itself into her kiss with Millie.

“Wow... she’s coming up fast... she’s all yours, Pansy.” Said Millie, pulling back at last. She who would happily have snogged the Gryffindor witch for much longer, but she was buzzing hard and feeling very loving and altruistic towards her friends.

__________

The next hour was a wild welter of sensations and fragmentary observations. Life changed, emotions became everything, pleasure was abundant, and it took only the slightest touch on hyper-tactile female skin to make the girls sigh and shiver with delight.

Hermione gradually became aware that the intense initial rise had reached a kind of euphoric plateau, and she could react more easily with the world around her again. Pansy squeezed her hand which was very hot. Their eyes met, and they knew they were both feeling the same thing.

“How is it?” Millie’s voice broke into their reverie.

“I think I know now why they call it Ecstasy, said Hermione, tracing Pansy’s bare arm with a fingertip, and watching her skin goosebump in its wake. She was amazed that she could actually speak

“Do you feel like dancing?” Millie enquired solicitously, seeing the signs.

“Do you know, I rather think that I do!” Said Hermione brightly, and she did.

She took Pansy’s hand again, and gently led her to the dark central arch, followed by the rest of the gang. She felt ready for the full clubbing experience now, she felt wonderful and intrepid, like she could take on the world.

Pansy was taking a little longer to get on top of her pill. Unused to the amazing surges of empathy and affection, it kept making her want to cry for all the times she had been a cow, and a bitch, and a bully. Especially to the girl who was laughing and dancing in front of her, the amazingly gorgeous Gryffindor lioness, Hermione Granger. Then the music suddenly calmed tojust a long rich chord and whispering percussion. It was like the entire club went ‘Aaahhh’ all at once, and everyone was hugging, kissing... friends, strangers, lovers and even enemies, all swept up in the moment. The jubilation reached an almost surreal level, then the huge drums pounded back in, and the room exploded into maelstrom of cheering, light and sound. Even the pure-blood witches amongst them were impressed by this Muggle version of magic.

Time passed, they danced, they danced, until her body intervened. Hermione noticed that she needed a pee, and she’d already left it a bit too long for comfort. She lip-mimed ‘I need a pee,’ at Pansy, and she nodded. Hand in hand, so they couldn’t lose each other in the throbbing dark, they threaded their way to the achingly long queue for the women’s loo.

For a while, just standing there, high and happy in a crowd of other women, edging towards a still far off goal was okay, but then Hermione needed to go very badly, and Pansy was uncomfortably crossing her legs too. A club employee of some kind was just passing.

_‘Time for an intervention,’_ thought Pansy, _‘remember you are a Slytherin.’_ “Excuse me, my friend is diabetic and she urgently needs to administer her insulin, is there a staff toilet or something that we could use? Please?” Pansy lied fluently, turning her quite devastating almond-eyed allure onto the man, looking up at him firmly, meaning business, and yet... those green eyes and her cocked left eyebrow in particular suggested there might be more to it than that, if he complied.

She thought that she had hooked him, but even as he opened his mouth to speak, she knew from his expression that he was going to ask to see the bloody insulin first.Not good enough, Parkinson, must do better! Just then she heard a faint familiar vocal sound inside the churning bass, which might have been the word _“Imperio!”_ Hermione, her hand in her little beaded bag must have been wielding her wand. She was doing a very wrong thing, for entirely selfish reasons. Was she really a Gryffindor after all? Pansy thought with amusement.

The man’s eyes glistened then he smiled in a slightly puzzled way, and beckoned them to follow him. The other girls in the queue whistled and cat-called good-naturedly, which made Hermione blush with additional guilt, but she was so near to wetting herself now she didn’t really care. They were taken through a blank door into the hidden parts of the arches, the unglamorous service area. After walking down a long passage, the man kicked open another door, and revealed a reasonably hygienic toilet.

“You’re lucky, DJ Sonique is playing tonight, and she insists this place is kept clean for her, so don’t mess it up, or we’re all in trouble. Don’t take too long about it, either.” He sounded a bit vague, as if he was speaking automatically. As he walked away, Hermione’s hand delved back into her bag, seized her wand and lifted the Imperius Curse.

The moment the security man disappeared round the corner, Hermione slammed the door, tore down her knickers, and sat on the toilet, letting go a long noisy stream of pee. She groaned loudly with relief. Pansy leaned her back against the door, watching, laughing, and then her laughing slowed, something about seeing her girlfriend naked from the waist down like this teased her ever simmering libido into full wakefulness. She looked from the tinkling stream emerging from Hermione’s pussy to her deep brown eyes, and found them burning into hers. They had to wait until Hermione had finished before flying into each other’s arms. Even those few seconds delay built their mutual longing into something monumental. The latter part of the Ecstasy’s effects seemed to carry a powerful erotic punch. Once sex had raised its horny head, it wouldn’t go away easily, but Pansy still had a basic bodily need to deal with first.

“I have to pee too!” She gasped desperately.

She sat down, pulled her thong aside and let go. The relief was erotic in itself. Hermione suddenly hitched up her dress, straddled Pansy’s legs and sat on her thighs, delving a hand between them. Even as the hot pee hissed out, Hermione began to briskly rub Pansy’s clit.

“Oh fuck... that feels impossibly good,” Pansy moaned, resting her head on Hermione’s boobs as tremors of deep pleasure ran through her.

Hermione felt wonderful, and wicked, and reckless. Still rubbing and dabbling her fingers, she tilted Pansy’s head with her other hand, and kissed her, soul deep, until desire completely consumed them both.

“What if he comes back?” Pansy gasped when the kiss broke.

“He’ll have to wait until we’ve finished,” Hermione growled. “Gods, how is it possible to want you so much?”

Pansy had nearly stopped peeing, Hermione’s wet, eager fingers didn’t care either way. They delved, explored, gave exquisite friction exactly where it mattered, the sensations multiplied and redoubled over several breathless minutes, and even as the muffled music from the dance floor reached a crescendo and broke, Pansy let out a wail of rapture and came, squirming and further wetting Hermione’s hand.

Remembering their very first embrace, Hermione raised her fingers to her mouth, licked them, then held them to Pansy’s mouth, and made her suck and lick them too, because it felt right.

“I want to feel you inside me,” Hermione husked urgently.

They had forgotten the risk of the man returning. All that mattered was following the line of their lust to its logical conclusion. Hermione climbed off Pansy’s lap, and waited to be directed. She suddenly felt entirely sensual and submissive. She needed to be taken by her lover, so badly she had lost her sense of initiative, but that didn’t matter, Pansy would know what to do.

“Turn round... lift up your dress... show me your hot little arse,” Pansy said, crisply.

Hermione moaned, Pansy was in charge, and her voice was like an intimate caress. She obeyed quickly. Pansy spat on her hand and her saliva-slippery fingers found Hermione’s entrance straight away. She was so hot... so wet... so open already that Pansy needed to use three fingers immediately. She thrust them deep into the sweet, unresisting flesh, and Hermione writhed against her.

“More... harder... deeper!”

Pansy had never heard that guttural, hungry tone in Hermione’s voice before. She added her little finger too, and thrust all four into her girlfriend, turning and twisting them, opening her, revelling in her need.

There was something she had done with Millie occasionally in their last months together, something special... emotional too, extremely memorable at all times, but Millie was a much bigger and considerably more experienced girl... surely, Hermione wasn’t ready for something like that...

But Hermione was already ahead of the game, a hand reaching for her charmed bag, “Accio lube! Accio poppers!” She cried.

She had seen it, she knew it could be done. The girl in her favourite porn vid couldn’t be much older or bigger than her, and she had managed it... While Pansy had been snoozing after their shopping spree, Hermione had booted up her parents’ computer, switched on the modem, and carried out some online research into the properties of amyl nitrate, confirming Edward’s more basic information. Now to put theory into practice!

“Please Pansy darling... I still need more!” She was almost crawling up the door with need. She thrust the bottle of lube into Pansy’s free hand, and grasped the poppers bottle tightly.

There was a brief panting hiatus as Pansy squirted the silky lube onto her fingers, and then Hermione felt them return, bunched together, pushing hard, making her whine and wriggle. It was better, but she was still tight... very tight... she knew what to do though, because she had read all about it! She twisted the cap, opened the little bottle and inhaled deeply in each nostril, as had been recommended on one website. The scent of the chemical was sweet and yet raw. The effects took a few seconds to make themselves felt. Then the vertiginous rush from the poppers met the E head on, and Hermione shot straight into a chem-sex stratosphere. The tension in her tightly clenching pussy muscles seemed to melt away.

Pansy watched her lube shiny hand slowly, amazingly, disappear from view into her lover’s body. It felt awesome, it looked stunning.

“Does it hurt?” She asked anxiously.

“It feels... perfect!” Hermione gasped, and took another sniff of poppers to make sure it stayed that way. “Fuck me Pansy... just fuck me!” She had never been so demanding.

Pansy felt a surge of joy. Her girlfriend really was the most talented and inspired witch of her generation, in so many incredible ways! The years of repression had only fed her imagination and made her hotter, and Pansy was the lucky one to unlock her at the perfect moment. She did as Hermione had asked, and fucked her, deep and strong, finding that her fingers had naturally curled into a fist.

Hermione clawed at herself, feeling Pansy’s wrist, her hand shunting back and forth, it felt weird, and so sexy... knowing and feeling... feeling and knowing what was inside her... the bliss built higher.... then Pansy found her clit, and it was but an instant from there to the ecstasy of coming on Ecstasy, her cunt clamping hard on the now clenched and pumping fist. Her face screwed up from the effort of not screaming, and then another spasm forced the fist right out, and she sobbed to lose it, shuddering hard from rippling, still orgasmic aftershocks. She slid down the door, onto her knees, clutching at herself in shock and wonder at what they had just done.

__________

Before the girls had time to savour the aftermath, they heard male footsteps in the passage. The security guard was back!

“Haven’t you two finished in there? I can’t wait around.” He said.

Pansy quickly turned on the washbasin tap and pulled the flush.

“Just tidying up,” she called out voice still a little shaky.

They heard a suspicious sniff as they frantically pulled on knickers and tugged their dresses into a semblance of normal.

“I’ll bet you are,” the guard chuckled, and Pansy guessed he had smelled the poppers. That stuff really did pong!

At last, with scrabbling fingers, she slid back the catch. Hermione was still dazed and panting from the orgasm and the drugs, she wasn’t capable of much except a dopey grin.

“Thanks,” said Pansy with a more focused smile. “We owe you one.”

“You most certainly do… and if I wasn’t a gentleman I’d ask you to pay it back right now.” Said the man, speculatively.

Pansy chose to ignore him, and thankfully he didn’t pursue it, but he looked down at them with highly amused eyes as they filed out of the cubicle, which was still redolent of their kinky little adventure.

__________

Once they were back in the club, giggling with relief, they made straight for the courtyard and the huge bed, hoping for Millie. There was no sign of the gang, so they found a comfortable corner at last had a chance to digest the last few minutes of their lives.

“Did you know you could do that?” Pansy asked, stroking Hermione’s bare arm because it felt so nice.

“Not exactly… I mean I knew from my parents’ porn vids that it’s something lesbians sometimes do… and I do love to feel… erm… full…”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed, you disgraceful little slut! And the way you sorted out the club bloke… you could get into serious trouble for that… it was an unforgivable curse!”

“It was a desperate situation… I was very nearly peeing my pants!” Hermione protested.

“We have just been very naughty, very dirty girls, which makes me very happy,” Pansy purred into Hermione’s ear, a hand now on her thigh. They were about to kiss when Edward appeared, seconds before Millie and Astoria.

“Where have you two been? We’ve been looking all over for you!” He chided them. “I’m about to to take a cab over to Trade, so I’ll see you all later tomorrow… if I survive the muscle Marys,” he rolled his eyes lubriciously.

“Trade is a very late night gay club, very hard music… and everything else!” Millie explained, seeing Pansy and Hermione’s puzzled faces. “But where were you? We were starting to get worried.”

“We had a little adventure in the staff toilet,” said Pansy. She held up the fingers of her right hand to Millie’s nose.

“Well well well, very enterprising of you! I’m jealous!” Millie grinned. “Actually, we were just wondering whether to take more E here, or go back to mine for an after-party.”

“But I can’t… I mean your place is under heavy protection, isn’t it, I won’t be able to get in.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Asked Pansy doubtfully. She had her own reasons for wanting to keep Hermione away from Millie’s house, though the way she felt right now, they didn’t seem to matter as much as they had before.

“I spoke to Ma this afternoon about… well, the possibility of Hermione visiting tonight, and she grumbled a bit, but said she would lower the wards for her. It just seems… well… we can do what we like, chill out, and have a smoke, and I’ve got a good Muggle sound system. I freely admit that Muggle audio technology beats the pants off the Wizarding version. And you two can play with each other some more if you feel like it, and we won’t mind at all, will we Astoria?” Tall, slim, young, darkly beautiful Astoria Greengrass shook her head so that her long wavy hair swung like heavy curtains, and smiled. She never said very much.

Millie was now standing behind Pansy and Hermione, massaging a shoulder of each girl with her powerful hands, her voice becoming a low persuasive rasp, her thumbs pressing into muscles that responded with quivers of pleasure.

“Having a massage when you’re coming up on E can be _very_ special,” she husked, her head between theirs, so that they could both hear what she was offering.

Her size 16 figure suited her in a very sensual way. Nobody could accuse her of not being sexy, thought Hermione, who was just coming round to the notion of actually liking a girl who had hurt her several times during their years at Hogwarts. _But she’s changed... grown up. Millie’s abundant charms must provide a delectableplayground for her lovers... and golly, that snog, earlier tonight..._

“So, are we decided then? All back to mine?” Asked Millie, knowing the answer was yes.

Edward had already taken a mini cab to Trade. They’d seen him off with hugs and air-kisses

Millie had spotted a dark corner just off York Way while walking to the club, and noted it for later. A perfect spot for apparition in the small hours. She would take Astoria sidealong, and if Hermione would lend her her wand, Pansy could take Hermione likewise. A few seconds later there was no evidence at all that they had ever been in the dark space behind the bins, apart from a lingering waft of CK One.


	6. After Party

Millie’s room was so large it was almost a baronial hall. One end held an enormous four poster bed, decadently draped chairs and chests, low tables and bookcases. Slightly incongruous stereo speakers framed an amplifier, record deck and a CD player all within easy reach of a pair of large leather sofas. There was also an old vaulting horse, looking incongruous in the middle of the room. At the other end was a much smaller bed, a wardrobe and chest of drawers looking like rejects from a 1950’s TV drama. When she moved in a month or so ago, Pansy had had to make do with what was available from the unused furniture in the garage, left behind by the house’s previous owners, all Muggles. Pansy was still not entirely persona grata at Madame Bulstrode’s residence.

__________

The Bulstrode’s own reputation had suffered somewhat due to the dark magic allegiances of the former master of the house. Torquil Bulstrode, a death eater during the first War, had left his wife and daughter behind when he fled to Madagascar with his young male lover, just in time to be out of the way when stark choices of allegiance had to be made again. Luckily for mother and daughter, the house and most of the family money belonged to Felicity Bulstrode. She was Muggle-born, and able to prove that she’d already been dissociated from Torquil for several years in all but name before his departure, which saved her from most of the Ministry reprisals. Things were still delicate, so she’d warned her daughter that she wasn’t sure harbouring an undesirable like Pansy Parkinson was going to help the family recover their position. However, she also said that she couldn’t let Millie down when she came to her, pleading for help for her best friend.

Felicity had been a young bride, and a young mother. Though Millie would soon be nineteen, Felicity was still only thirty-seven. Despite her drop in social standing Felicity was not displeased with life at present, as she was now able to live as she liked without endless unfounded criticism and carping from a man who did not have the courage to stand either for or against Voldemort, the second time around.After the birth of their daughter he had rarely engaged fully with his vivacious and warm-blooded wife, and much preferred the company and bedrooms of men. After a near arid eighteen year marriage - enlivened thankfully by a series of interesting and sometimes rewarding affairs - what pleased Felicity most now was inventive sex, both magical and mortal, and plenty of it. Opportunities had been limited for a while due to the war, but she was making up for lost time. She was fully aware of her daughter’s lesbian relationships and experiments and had been since Millie’s early teens. A few days ago she’d heard with a surge of prurient and anticipatory pleasure that the intriguing girl from the Golden Trio had finally snared the heart of that no longer unwelcome minx Pansy Parkinson...

Felicity had just untethered a grateful slave from his complex bondage, following a moderately rewarding disciplinary session, when she sensed more than heard the distant ‘crack’ of an apparition that surely signalled her daughter’s return from her night out in the non-magical world. She would be with her girlfriend Astoria. Then there was another apparition, which she guessed must be Pansy, and most likely, hopefully Hermione Granger too. When Millie came to her with the news of Parkinson and Granger’s new alliance, Felicity had professed aloud that she didn’t understand this sudden fascination with Muggles and Muggle ways. She didn’t mention that just before the Ministry fell about a year ago, she had accidentally bumped into Hermione Granger in Diagon Alley, and she’d noticed while helping her to pick up a pile of scattered books that the girl had a uniquely alluring scent, a natural fragrance that spoke to Felicity in a language only a few trained experts understood properly. Felicity was skilled potioneer with an acknowledged expertise in interpreting perfumes and natural odours, and she had quickly surmised that Hermione Granger’s sexual potential would be worth investigating, if and when the time was right, and the opportunity arose. According to Millie, that potential was beginning to flower, and now the opportunity was at hand. She had toyed dutifully with the idea that she should not to interfere, but the one thing Felicity found hard to resist was temptation of a sexual nature, there had never been a chance that she’d let this kind of opportunity pass.As soon as she had sent her slave home through the floo network, she smiled slowly, venally. Hermione Granger was already aware that it was difficult to gain entry to the Bulstrode residence, but she wasn’t to know that one day soon it might be even harder, to leave.

__________

Millie drew her friends to the sitting area, specifically the dual sofas with a low glass table in between. They subsided onto the sofas in their respective couples, and Millie summoned the Bulstrodes’ house elf. Like all house elves, Mindy had been offered clothes immediately after the war, but like most elves who had been well treated, she had chosen to remain with her family. Drinks were ordered, and Mindy politely offered expertly pre-rolled joints to the girls before she departed on her errands.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m definitely ready for the other half of those stupendous pink callies. They really do have the most marvellous effects upon the senses, don’t you think? You are a very lucky girl, Granger, to have such discerning parents.” Millie bantered merrily.

“I’d love some more... I’ve been dying to feel you, properly, inside me... inside you... when we’re high,” chirped Astoria, which was the most either Pansy or Hermione had heard her say all night.

They all looked at each other, remembering the magical intensity, the almost impossible closeness of their embraces during the first rushes... and also, for Hermioneand Pansy, what had happened later.

“I’m game,” said Pansy.

“Me too,” Hermione confirmed.

This was a night she did not want to end before dawn. She sensed they were beginning a new adventure.

Astoria was still holding a bottle of water from the club. They all took a swig to wash the drugs down, and Millie popped a mix cd called Northern Exposure into the player. Deliciously chilled beats emerged from the big speakers, and they passed the joints back and forth, chatting a little, spacing out, nodding to the beats, and when Mindy returned, they thanked her nicely, drank the hot tea and nibbled small sugared biscuits.

The E came on much faster on near empty stomachs, and the lingering comet-trail of the first half. It wasn’t long before Hermione felt a sort of breathless tingling and rising excitement. She looked at Pansy, and when their eyes met they knew that they were both feeling it.

Astoria stood up, and without a word she slid out of her dress and knickers, she wasn’t wearing a bra. She looked down at Millie.

“Please... I need you.” She said holding out her hand. Millie stood, and Astoria helped her to undress from her more complex goth fairy costume.

The room was very warm, the view was sublime, and the idea of being naked with her lover became irresistible to Hermione. She stood too.

“Will you unzip me, Pansy darling?” She asked in a high clear voice. The four girls were soon watching each other in their nakedness, appraising, admiring, allowing sensations of empathy and desire to flow through them in sweet rippling surges.

“Just out of rude curiosity, what were you two doing before we found you at the club?” Millie enquired, lazily stroking Astoria’s firm round breasts.

“Well, I fingered Pansy until she came... and then she... can I tell her, Pansy?” Pansy sighed, and nodded. No way was that ever going to remain a secret for long! “Well... she... I’m not sure if I’m calling it by the right name... but I think you’d say she fist-fucked me.”

Millie gasped the loudest, and her steadily increasing admiration for Granger’s insouciance and nerve increased exponentially. Even cool Astoria smiled slowly, and her eyes grew darker and more hooded.

“And how was it? Was it your first time? Did it hurt?” Asked Millie curiously, touching herself, then drawing Astoria’s slim hand to her pussy.

“I’d never done it before. It only hurt a little bit at first, but the poppers helped hugely. Then, I... I.. well, I loved it, actually.”

“Wow, poppers too... that was enterprising of you Granger, I’m surprised! Pansy, it must have been like old times for you. She used to fist me too, you know. Oh, I hope that doesn’t shock you… Did she instigate it, Granger?”

Hermione wasn’t shocked to be asked. Pansy had told her a bit about their on-off fling.

“No... um.. it was my idea...I’d seen it in a porn video, and it looked... well, frankly, it looked like something I would rather enjoy. And I did. Pansy was wonderful... I came... sooo hard!”

“Merlin... you’re such a little raver, aren’t you Hermione? Quite the surprise package. I like your style,” Millie couldn’t resist flirting with her.

Pansy was sitting again, but running her hands slowly up and down Hermione’s smooth thighs.

“She’s adorable isn’t she? And she’s mine.” Said Pansy softly, covering Hermione’s sex with her entire hand.

“Oh, I’m fully aware she’s yours, just as Astoria is mine, but it doesn’t mean we can’t... admire and... compare... and...Oh fuck... oh you perverted little angel!”

Astoria had been dabbling quietly in Millie’s wetness, but without warning she drew her fingers together, and thrust upwards, hard.

“Merlin’s rod of holly, but that feels _good_!” Millie gasped, seizing Astoria’s wrist to pull her a little deeper.

Hermione stood, swaying slightly as Pansy caressed her, her eyes feasting on the sight of Astoria’s slim wrist siding back and forth in Millie’s lush dark haired cunt, getting wetter and more slippery with each smooth stroke... so that’s what it looked like in reality, off the screen... bizarre and beautiful. She plucked her nipples, tugging them hard, amazed at the way the E made the discomfort into an achingly sensual pleasure. She looked down into Pansy’s eyes, saw the desire, the love, the fear of losing her...

“Don’t worry, I love you, Pansy, with all my heart.” She whispered softly into Pansy’s ear.

“But... you do know they both want to have sex with you, don’t you?” Pansy asked uncertainly.

Hermione didn’t know what she going to say, until the words just seemed to come out...

“Yes, I suppose I do. But... well, is it very wrong to admit that I... I think I’d like to have sex with everyone here right now, but most of all with you... do _you_ want to have sex with them too?”

“Y... yes, I do...it’s true... but with you, I’d be making love.” Said Pansy, very sincerely.

“Well well well, sex with our friends, love with our lovers... nicely put Granger. Does that sound okay to you too, Astoria?” Asked eagerly listening Millie, spreading her big thighs wider, and rolling her generous hips with each deep thrust.

“Perfect,” breathed her alabaster acolyte, tossing back her thick mane of dark hair, and nibbling her plump bottom lip she gave Hermione a doe-like look that spoke of nothing but lust.

Hermione whimpered. There was something dangerously dark but very appealing about that girl. And about Millie too. Such strength, such... experience, for her age. One of her parents’ porn videos sprang to mind. She had a vision of being strapped tightly to the vaulting horse, at Millie’s mercy, a whip flashing and hissing through the air...

Millie smiled. Like her mother she had a gift for legilimency, and in her current sex-sensitised state, naive Hermione was very readable...

Pansy saw Millie’s amused, smugly pleased expression and knew that it had happened. Millie had got her way again, and in the end Pansy had been powerless to resist. But Hermione loved her, loved Pansy. Sex... and love... they were different, as Millie and Hermione had both avowed.. And Pansy certainly felt like sex... and yes, maybe thanks to this Muggle drug, maybe just the sensual vibe, sex with everyone!They were all special, and at one time or another, to some degree, she had loved them all to some extent.

Yes, it had been Pansy who discovered Astoria first, only to have her quickly seduced away, or was it the other way round? But really, _deep deep inside, deep deep deep inside..._ like the song on the stereo was currently telling her, she’d actually wanted Granger all along, so it hadn’t hurt quite as much as it might have done, losing her precocious new girlfriend to a large, demanding, dominant dyke who had also been her lover...what a mess... but it wouldn’t happen this time... would it? The fresh E surged, and swept negative thoughts and doubts away, Pansy forgot all about her worries. Her fingers danced over Hermione’s pussy and began to dip between the soft folds. She was so juicy so ready so needy, and all Pansy wanted to do was fill her and make her feel the enormous power of her love...

“Perhaps Hermione, in a while, you would like to learn how it feels... to give the fist, and not just to receive,” said Millie thickly. “Astoria has made me so ready... and I know... it’s not so much your thing, to receive, is it, Pansy? And would you mind if Astoria, dear-heart... extended our sweet new friend’s experience, if you understand me?”

They had their leader, their cunning director. Hermione and Pansy joined Millie and Astoria on their sofa, and for a while four warm female bodies twined and writhed, caressed probed and explored, not quite sure who was doing what to whom, not caring because everything felt good on E, and some of it felt exquisite. Kissing was perfect, so many different lips, different mouths and responses, all bathed in a voluptuous glow. It was divine coincidence that Hermione found her way into Millie just as Astoria opened her pussy and then hovered at the edge. She smelled a newly familiar chemical odour, and realised that Pansy was holding poppers under her nose. She inhaled quickly and went to heaven, Astoria cruising deep into her in one smooth thrust.

Pansy was finding a special joy in assisting and observing her lover. It was both torment and pleasure to watch, and Pansy was learning that she had a strong voyeuristic streak. Hermione was such a special creature, so instinctive, truly innocent of guile in her perversions and excess, it was rather thrilling, indeed a privilege just to be with her on her journey of discovery. The sweet thing was pleasing Millie, too. Shuttling her hand in and out, back and forth in a steady rhythm, synchronised with the music, she was driving Ms Bulstrode wild.

It was at times like this that Millie became ‘Ms Bulstrode,’ the tough, butch young woman in charge. Her size, strength, and powerful personality gave her a natural authority. Even in the time before her un-regretted father left for good, changes and lessons in love and loyalty at home had led her to learn that her old habits of threats and blunt violence could be converted into something much subtler and infinitely more rewarding. It was like turning lead into gold. It had been a revelation! She wasn’t a bully anymore. The key had been her mother announcing that she had become a professional sex counsellor, who now looked after many magical clients, male, female, and in between, in her private chambers in the east wing. In recent school holidays, when she could spare the time, she had even begun to train her daughter to be a proper dominatrix. It was unusual, thought Millie, to have a mother who understood the murkier side of sex so well, and not to be embarrassed by her. From hating her for most of her adolescence, Millicent was now very proud to have Felicity as a mum, especially one who was teaching her so much while also serving and sometimes saving the more bizarre and dangerous characters who hovered between dark and light. Helping them, as Felicity admitted quite frankly, helped her.

“Lick me Granger... ahhh... yes... just there... good girl... a little higher... you’ll soon learn... wow... you’ve learned a lot already... you always were a quick study... thorough too... mmmm... oohhh Morgana! Faster... fuck me harder... I... said HARDER!”

Hermione’s fist was pumping fast and hard. The wet sounds of fucking gilded the music, Millie was writhing, tugging hard on her nipples, soaring on Ecstasy, grimacing on the seemingly endless edge of orgasm. It usually took her much longer to get close the first time, she was a slow burner, but Hermione was such an unexpectedly erotic surprise. Not only a Muggle, but a Gryffindor too! Surely the least likely combination for a kinky little thing like her. _She’s pleased with herself... that smug little smirk... the Granger Smirk, she should patent it and sell it as an aphrodisiac..._ looking at Hermione’s glowing face tipped Millie over the cliff.

“FUCK! YES!!” Millie roared, and clamped hard on Hermione’s fist, hips jacking violently, gripping her wrist to keep her deep inside.

Hermione did not relent, she jerked her hand in and out as best she could during the long convulsions, then yelped with surprise when several quick hot squirts of Millie’s juice erupted in her face and open mouth. ‘ _It tastes of sex_ ,’ she thought at once. ‘ _Millicent Bulstrode tastes of raw sex! How did this happen? Is this what I should be doing... is this... right?’_ She involuntarily swallowed a little of the strange ejaculate, and her doubts fled again. ‘ _This is real for now, this is necessary. I am balancing my life. Eighteen years of being idiotically conscientious... eighteen years of pleasure repressed... this is a holiday from my other self, the bossy know-it-all girl in my past... but is this the real me?’_

“Ohh... MERLIN!” Hermione’s reverie was cut off by Astoria’s lips softly encircling her clit. The tide of pleasure rose higher... Astoria was delicate, light, making airy caresses that teased her... the hand inside her was so slim... it slid back and forth like oiled silk, soothed and smoothed by that lovely lube Pansy found on the table, left by Mindy the house elf... ‘ _oh... my... god... how deep inside me is she? My hips are climbing onto her... I must roll over...’_ Hermione thought feverishly.

“Yes... like that...” _‘She’s wedged her elbow onto the seat... I’m riding back onto her, taking so much of her, I can feel her wrist bending inside me! This is better and better and better! It’s sooo good!’_ Her mind was exulting with delight. “So... fucking... good...” Hermione was shocked to hear her own voice crying her joy out loud. “Pansssyyyy... please... make me coooommmeee!!” She wailed sitting up, back arched, nipples stark, bouncing her pussy on Astoria’s arm.

Wickedly, Pansy held the poppers for Hermione, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to resist the lure of the rush. A big hit, then Pansy put the poppers down and crushed her lips to Hermione’s, and the Gryffindor did something very original. She breathed the amyl fumes from her own lungs into Pansy’s, so they both soared into the stars, Pansy’s fingers scrubbing the viciously powerful spasms from her sex, her clit almost crackling with a fierce exaltation.

For the second time in her life, and the other time had been with Hermione too, Pansy Parkinson achieved a blissful near involuntary orgasm. Weeping with love and ecstasy she clung to Hermione’s sweat streaked back, hand slowing down until it was barely touching her clit, but when it did, every now and then, Hermione quivered from head to toe with aftershocks. Only when the last tremor had passed did she dismount from Astoria’s glistening hand.

It struck her then that she felt no guilt, no shame. If you’d asked her a month ago whether she could happily participate in a lesbian orgy, she would have would have thrown you out of the house, but she hadn’t known herself then as she did now. It was inside her, a strange little switch had been pressed, and it switched on a sexual being who didn’t judge, didn’t flinch or shrink from any challenge, who took the best of what there was on offer, and gave, and too, with abandon. Whether she had pressed the switch herself, or it was Pansy’s doing, she had not yet decided.

__________

In a small dark chamber not far from Millie’s room, Felicity Bulstrode had been at the screen of her specially adapted spy glass for a long time, her hand restlessly stroking between her long shapely thighs, sighing. It was very wrong, she knew, but utterly irresistible to watch her daughter and her friends at play. And the wrongness just made it all the more tempting. Admitting to and indulging in her own weaknesses gave her a better understanding of the bizarre and illicit urges of her clients, which made it easier to help them... and that was a barely adequate excuse for this voyeurism, she knew. The view of the sofa through the carefully positioned lenses was excellent, and could be directed by tilting the large reflector. Mostly she had aimed it at Hermione Granger, and focused closer for the perfect image. Gods, her eyes... her body... she was just too, too, too enticing...

Felicity, a talented witch of considerable experience, could not remember meeting or seeing anyone, let alone a Muggle, who so naturally, instinctively, innocently radiated sex. Just watching her come on Astoria’s hand was like viewing the most exquisite three dimensional erotica. Felicity howled, almost silently, and came on her deeply frigging fingers. It wasn’t even that Granger was a stunning beauty in the traditional sense, not like young Astoria... she was pretty, yes, her body was good... her arse was exceptional... but there was something powerful and indefinable about her, a mysterious appeal that might be ignored by the unenlightened masses, but could awaken the senses of the most jaded and depraved connoisseur. Felicity groaned with fresh desire. Orgasm had only made her yearn harder. From that moment, Pansy Parkinson’s most dangerous rival for Hermione Granger’s love and attention was not Astoria Greengrass, or Millicent Bulstrode, it was Millie’s mother, Felicity.


	7. Love Hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madam Bulstrode knows that a keen student like Hermione needs special attention...

‘No no, that’s all wrong. Hermione Granger surely deserves a skilled practitioner, an expert of considerably more experience than the Parkinson girl...’ thought Felicity covetously, eyes glued to the screen.

__________

Pansy had donned a substantial strap-on from Millie’s toy box, and was easing the lube slick tip into Hermione’s tight, plump behind. Beside her, wearing a slimmer dildo, Millie was in a similar position with Astoria.

“We certainly know how to look after our girls, don’t we,” rasped Millie, gripping Astoria’s hips and thrusting her shaft carefully in and out. Astoria was making high, feline noises, and already squirming onto each stroke.

Hermione couldn’t resist taking a sniff of poppers, and was quickly rewarded with a wonderfully sensual rush, and the sensation of her interior muscles easing deliciously, she was rewarded as the long, thick black dildo slid ever deeper into her now welcoming fundament.

“Gosh... Edward was sooo right about this poppers stuff!” She gasped, her senses soaring.

Pansy grinned. Her instincts had wanted something like this all along... even before she’d known very much about lesbians or anal sex... Hermione’s bottom had been singing its seductive little song to her for years. She remembered obsessing about giving Granger a spanking for months after seeing her in tight jeans for the first time when she was sixteen. She had to steady herself from going too far too fast. It was a moment to savour forever. She felt in control, strong, taking the girl she loved. The ugly mistakes of her past were being washed away in the cleansing flood of pleasure and fulfilment. What a waste it would have been if Hermione had denied herself these delights, as she might very well have done. Millie said that most girls hated even the idea of anal sex, usually because it carried the threat of being done forcefully by a man... But one of the special things about Hermione was her unquenchable curiosity. She liked to try everything, with an unusually open mind, and so far there was little or nothing Pansy had offered that she hadn’t enjoyed, let alone objected to. Pansy reached for her lover’s pussy, and tickled her clit. She was rewarded by a yelp of pleasure, and a squirm that made the base of the dildo rub insistently on her own clit. She imagined being filled too, a double dildo, linking them... her fingers itched for her confiscated wand to make it so!

__________

Felicity made her decision. No two ways about it, Hermione Granger definitely needed her, needed the superior skill and understanding of a mature woman, someone who could take her way beyond her vanilla Muggle dreams to those dark and exquisite places on the very edge of human consciousness and capability. The girl was made for it, and in her exuberant innocence, she was ready for it now as she might never be again.

Felicity had formed an action plan a long since, and it all it required now was a little more patience, the perfect location, which she had, and the right choice of potions, which she also had. First, she had decided, a small but potent dose of a love potion - not Amortentia, or the scent detecting properties of it might give her away - it would never do if Hermione pined for the Parkinson girl at the wrong moment, and then perhaps an antidote called Dilaxia, designed by healers, a relaxant for use on difficult wounds, but found in certain decadent circles to have properties, when mixed with lube, that could be very useful for those rare girls like Hermione, to push there limits further than nature might allow them. The special ones, the witch in a million girls... if indeed there were a million witches in the world. After that... Felicity had a well stocked laboratory to play with, and Hermione’s own physical magic was yet to be fully revealed.

She decided to leave the girls to wear themselves out for a while longer, and retreated to her private chamber, her inner sanctum where only the chosen ones were allowed to enter. A few necessary preparations, a snack and a nap on the divan, and if the teenagers were still awake when she re-surfaced, well, she could arrange something for that, too.

__________

Sunday morning was already nudging sunrise by the time the lesbian quartet fell sleep, all in Millie’s bed, entangled, exhausted, still buzzing a little, but soothed by hash. A couple of hours later, kicked by Millie turning over, Hermione awoke needing a pee. She stumbled from the bed and instinctively picking up her beaded bag tottered, naked, to the bathroom in the corner tower. She closed the door, sat on the toilet, and leaned back against the wall, her limbs felt loose, a little bit rubbery... she grinned as a phrase of Millie’s floated into her floaty mind. Yes, she felt very comfortably fucked. She peed for a long time, so relaxed she hardly knew when it had finished. She stood up, swaying a little, drank some water, looped her bag over her wrist, and opened the door, looking forwards to returning to bed.

She had to blink, close the door and open it again. Millie’s spacious bedroom had vanished! In its place was a strange new chamber, much smaller, with organic, deep red, softly gleaming walls that seemed to pulse rhythmically, as if the room was a living creature. Before she could make the slightest sense of it, a tall vivacious woman with near-black eyes and shoulder length brown hair, wearing a shimmering translucent robe that parted a little to reveal a glimpse of small breasts, long legs, and a dark vee of neatly coiffed pubic hair, appeared before her.

“Hermione Granger... what a pleasure, I’ve been dying to meet you. I am Felicity Bulstrode.” She smiled, her voice was deep, warm, resonant and strong.

Caught completely off guard, still slow and stoned from E, hash, and sleep, Hermione stepped cross the threshold, politely holding out her hand. The door closed itself behind her.

“Before you say a thing, I’d just like your opinion on this perfume.” Said Felicity, holding her wrist to Hermione’s face.

Still unawares, rather bemused, Hermione inhaled politely. In a trice, Felicity turned her hand and crushed the capsule of love potion under the girl’s pert little nose. It took effect in seconds. Suddenly all Hermione wanted was to know this gorgeous creature and be consumed by her, to be everything to her... they had only just met, but she was ready to lay down her life for Felicity Bulstrode, just for one kiss, or a word of acknowledgement.

“There, that’s better, now you can concentrate on me properly. I need to tell you that we are about to embark on a voyage of discovery, Hermione, an adventure awaits us in the realm of the senses.” She saw a look of concern, but not alarm cross Hermione’s face. “ don’t worry my dear, they won’t even notice you’ve gone.” She said reassuringly.

To Hermione’s ears every word, every nuance seemed to carry an erotic charge. She moaned... she tried to remember the past hours, but the club and everything afterwards was now like a film seen years before, gauzy, faded, black and white, insubstantial. What was real was this woman, this tall, elegant, beautiful woman before her... _how amazing that she actually likes me_ , Hermione thought dreamily, and without being fully aware that she was speaking, she said:

“I... I want to please you... I think... that I want to feel every atom of your being upon me, inside me... I... want to...” her voice throbbed and cracked, she could no longer articulate... what on earth had come over her?

“Yes Hermione, and I want that too... there’s so much I need to teach you, so much you need to know. Come, sit with me... let’s learn from each other.”

Any speech that included the words ‘teach’ and ‘learn’ was bound to pique Hermione Granger’s interest. Feeling strange but not frightened at all, she sat on the chaise longue beside Felicity, her nakedness in contrast to her hostess’s shimmering, celestial gown.

“First of all, we need you to be as relaxed as possible, then we need to get you properly prepared for our adventure. I’m so happy that you’ve chosen to join me!”

She gave Hermione a crystal goblet of something pale, cold, and sparkling that looked like champagne.

“Here’s to us,” said Felicity, “Muggle-born witches should stick together,” and they clinked glasses smiling warmly at each other.

Hermione couldn’t remember making a choice, but she assumed she must have done. She took asip from the goblet, and then another, a bigger one. It was delicious, refreshing, and the bubbles tickled her nose. She sneezed, which felt almost orgasmic, so she giggled, and looked at Felicity some more, at her pale hazel-green mesmerising eyes... the curves of her body increasingly revealed by the glimmering gown that seemed to grow more insubstantial the longer Hermione looked... and then the first tremor of potion-fuelled desire sidled into her already well-used loins. Her eyes widened, pupils growing huge. She finished her drink, and the feelings grew.

“I’d love some more,” she said eagerly, holding out her goblet.

“Later, perhaps, but we do need a little excursion to the bathroom first,” said Felicity, taking Hermione’s hand.

“But I’ve only just just been!” Hermione protested.

“Think of this as part of the adventure,” Felicity advised her, raising an eyebrow conspiratorially.

The bathroom they entered was different to the one Hermione had just left, though it also seemed to be in a similar corner tower, and they entered it through the same door. This bathroom held strange artefacts and devices, tubes, nozzles and rubber bags. The shelves were lined with rows of coloured, jewel bright glass bottles containing unguents and lubricants and special preparations. There were tiles and runnels on the floor leading to drains. It smelled clean, slightly antiseptic, purposeful. A strange kind of seat had been constructed over a large toilet bowl.

“We need you to be as clean as possible... inside and out, then we can be as dirty as we like,” Felicity chuckled lubriciously. Hermione laughed too, though she wasn’t sure why.

Felicity directed Hermione into the shower, shrugged off her robe and joined her, washing her as the girl stood submissively under the jets of warm water. After being patted dry with a soft towel Hermione was subjected to a vaginal douche and then an enema that turned out to feel oddly sexy, once she had got over the initial embarrassment.

Back in the chamber Felicity handed Hermione a refilled glass.

“More champagne! Your reward. You handled that new experience remarkably well, Hermione.”

“I actually liked most of it, in a funny kind of way... it was a bit weird feeling so full and seeing my tummy bulging like that, but letting go was... crazy but good. I feel fantastic now!” She was speaking fast, clearly, her tiredness forgotten.

“And so you should, my dear.” Felicity purred.

She had just marinaded Hermione’s insides with several cleansing potions, and a large dose of Dilaxia, the state-of-the-witches-art muscle relaxant, much more effective, Felicity was sure, than that cheap chemical Granger had sniffed with Parkinson. and the final wash had contained a fine, long-lasting lubricating potion. The drink contained a sophisticated stimulant, giving the subject energy, focus, and most importantly a supernatural tactility of the outer skin and inner membranes. Hermione would feel everything in the finest detail. The effects could be terminated with a brief incantation and a swig of antidote, and unlike the Muggle drugs, it left the imbiber with few detectable after-effects.

“Stand up for me, and walk to the centre of the Pentacle on the floor.” Felicity’s command was calm and even.

Hermione felt the authority in the voice and found that she could not resist it. Like a good girl, she did as she was told. She trembled as a feeling she knew only a little as yet flowed into her blood.

“Raise your arms... part your legs... wider... good.” Felicity appraised Hermione’s outstretched body with visible hunger. It was time to begin. “Incarcerous!”

A flick of Felicity’s wand and Hermione gasped as soft suede leather ties unrolled from the floor and ceiling, snaking around her ankles and wrists, and binding her tightly. Her arms were pulled and stretched upwards so that her back was arched, pushing her bottom and her breasts out... her nipples tightened with fear and anticipation.

“Very... good...” breathed Felicity, caressing herself because the sight of Hermione Granger bound and fully revealed before her was so mouth-watering. She stepped closer, and touched Hermione, hands assimilating her shape quickly, then intimately exploring every centimetre of skin, including the girl’s increasingly enraptured face. She looked deep into those brown velvet eyes, and saw just what she wanted... the brightness of her endless sensual curiosity, and the infinite softness of the natural sexual submissive. Potions, drugs, or even spells might enhance her feelings, but they could not create what wasn’t there already. Felicity inhaled again and again, immersing her senses in Hermione’s perfume of arousal as if it too was a drug or potion.

Hermione felt a strange sense of peace steal over her. She was utterly helpless, at the mercy of a woman she had never met before, and yet the longer she hung there, the more aroused she felt, and the more she wanted Felicity and what she offered. She quivered lightly all over, and began to writhe slowly, winding her hips to Felicity’s subtle but insistent caresses. She watched strong fingers grasp her nipples...

“This is your first test, Hermione.” Felicity said, with a cool smile.

She tightened her grip, and tugged, squeezing the over-sensitive nubs harder and harder. Hermione frowned and bit her lower lip... she’d enjoyed this somewhere before, this teasing hurt, the piquant sensation of sex-tinged torment spreading through her tits... ‘ _has someone else tested me this way? Or...oh yes... it was one of the first things I discovered for myself while masturbating.._.’ But this time it was different, becoming more intense, significantly enhanced by potions, and her own desire. The warm tingling sensations flowed hotly from her nipples to her groin. Her hips wound a sinuous figure of eight. The pressure increased to a peak that made her eyes leak hot tears, but it was still a sensation she craved in her soul.

“It seems poor dear Severus was right, he told me once that there was a Gryffindor witch in your year who had the potential for great things... a superb intellect and the courage of the true masochist, he said. It can only have been you, sweet one. If you were not clearly a lesbian, he told me that he might have chosen to train you himself, when you came of age. He is a great loss to our small community.” Felicity sighed.

Hermione was so far into the zone now she barely reacted to these secrets newly revealed, though she was oddly pleased to hear that Professor Snape had thought so highly of her.

When Felicity released Hermione’s nipples she knew that the immediate aftermath would be even more painful, and that was when she chose to administer a smarting side-slap to each tender breast.

Hermione yelped and flinched. The pain blossomed into a dangerous flower, and a sensual heat that perversely stimulated her senses and made her pussy drool with delight.

“Do you know what a safe-word is?” Felicity enquired.

“No, Madam Bulstrode.”

“It is a word that a submissive or a slave can use to signal that the dominant is overreaching the subject’s limits. You need one before we go any further.”

‘ _That sounds very logical_ ,’ thought Hermione. She tried to think of a word that would come to mind easily at a moment of stress. “My safe-word will be... Ron,” she said.

“Very appropriate, if rather prosaic. I sincerely hope I won’t have to hear it again,” said Felicity with a strong tone of sarcasm.

“So do I!” Hermione gasped, as Felicity pinched her nipples even more viciously, one more time.

“Your wellbeing is very important to me Hermione. You need to learn about what we are doing, and the first thing you need to learn is trust. You must trust me absolutely.Pain doesn’t lie, and you must not lie about pain. If it’s hurting too much, or in the wrong way, you must tell me. I will know if it’s not enough, and I also know we have not even approached your limit yet. You truly are an exceptional young witch, but you are still a girl. It would be my greatest pleasure to make a woman of you.”

Hermione let the words sink into her deliciously stoned, sex-potion tuned brain. The implications were clear. This was an offer that she must consider carefully. Did she really crave these dark sensations? Was pain to be her friend or enemy? In Bellatrix LeStrange’s hands, she had almost been annihilated. But even in the maelstrom of her sheer terror there had been that treacherous yearning at her core... if she was to be treated like that again, even a little, would she still long for the divine release of a masochist’s orgasm? Would she gain what she had failed to achieve at Malfoy Manor? Would it be life and death, or ecstasy and redemption? Was that what she had been seeking ever since that day? There was only one way to find out!

“Thank you Madam Bulstrode. I trust you... I will do as you wish.”

“I accept your gratitude and your trust. From now on you may call me Mistress Felicity, or just Mistress will suffice. Very well, we’ll proceed. Accio riding crop!” Crisp voiced authority promptly summoned its first tool before there was a chance that the girl could change her mind.

Hermione saw the long springy crop with its flat leather tongue appear in Mistress Felicity’s hand, and moaned softly. The world of sexually applied pain beckoned with humid eyes. She took a deep breath, and prepared herself as best she could. She was already clenching her teeth and buttocks in defence of the expected blow.

“That’s not the way to take it,” Felicity chided gently. “We’ll get there, but not yet; when you’re ready, we’ll both know.”

She drew the tongue of the crop over Hermione’s warm, super-sensitised skin, watching follicles rise in a rippling wave. For several quiet minutes Felicity continued her study of Hermione’s body, examining it with her hands and eyes, then tapping on specific areas thoughtfully with the tip of the riding crop, as if marking them for future attention. Two taps to her back, three to her bottom, four each to her tits, Hermione noticed and whimpered... perhaps it was like a star system of desire and sensitivity!

“Hush now sweetie, all in good time,” Felicity soothed her. She leaned forwards and brushed her lips over Hermione’s, pressed softly into the yielding flesh, and withdrew. A tiny glistening line of saliva joined them for a second.”

“You’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Mistress Felicity.”

“Do you feel ready now?”

“Yes, Mistress Felicity.”

Hermione felt intensely alive, tingling sweetly all over, almost aching with anticipation for the next moment, and the one after, and the one where the crop sighed through the air and struck her across the buttocks. A sharp but measured stroke, testing but not hostile.

_‘SHHHWhack!’_

Hermione gasped sharply, but didn’t cry out. It had shocked her when it came, but she realised she hadn’t been tense for the blow, and that allowed the pain became a glow quite quickly. It was making her even wetter.

Felicity felt between Hermione’s legs, cupping her mound, tucking her middle fingers inside. She was hot, juicy, and straight away gave a squeeze back that pleased her mistress. It was a greeting, not a rejection. Felicity withdrew as smoothly as she had entered, and stood back, measuring the next stroke.

_‘Sssss... Whack!’_

The pattern formed, the strength of the strokes increasing subtly. One or two between each break became two or three. The sensation advanced too, the pain threshold growing organically, steered skilfully by Mistress Felicity.

_‘Whack! ...Whack! ...Whack! .....thwack!’_

After she given Hermione four in a row on her scorching bottom, she frigged her deep and hard, driving four fingers into her wetness. Hermione fought her bonds for the first time. Feeling the sweetness was almost harder to bear than the pain. Felicity pulled out quickly, and walked slowly around the suspended girl, licking her fingers, enjoying her flavour and indulging her olfactory senses in the subtle but distinctive perfume of the teenager’s arousal. She stopped in front of Hermione, cupped her breasts, weighing, assessing, her expression dispassionate but seething inside. This was testing her self-restraint quite as much as it was trying to establish Hermione’s limits.That smell... the tantalising scent that came off Hermione’s skin, and the hotter she became, from her cunt, too... like caramel, or vanilla, with feral jungles notes seething at the heart of it. It had been Felicity’s Bulstrode’s dream perfume since her first proper sighting of Hermione.

It was time. Felicity stood facing and to the side of the girl, and began to tap the tongue of the crop rapidly over her lightly jiggling left breast, increasing the strength until it was slapping audibly as it contacted the blushing skin, then she walked round Hermione with a slow measured tread, and began again on her right breast.

“What I’m you teaching right now is that this kind of sex is by no means all about shock and fear and raw physical suffering... I am not like Bellatrix, sweetie, I promise you... Narcissa told me confidentially that she saw Madame LeStrange give you a very hard time at the Manor... I can sympathise completely... she tried to give me a hard time too, once, when I was about your age... partly because I’m a Mudblood, and partly because... she would never have admitted it, but she was fascinated by girls like us... I was lucky, she didn’t have such lethal intentions on that day... Narcissa was very impressed that you survived Bella’s version of the Cruciatus curse... which very few women have done before, at least without frying their brains irreparably.”

Hermione’s breasts were jiggling to the rhythmic attentions of the crop, she could feel welling tears in her eyes.. it was getting harder and harder to bear, and it was making her strangely emotional. There was another pause while Felicity changed sides again. This time she didn’t tarry.

_‘Sssnap!’_

She brought the crop down smartly so that the tongue slapped hard on Hermione’s left nipple. Before she had even screamed:

_‘Sssnap!’_

A second blow copied the first on her right breast. Felicity stood back, and watched. Her ears heard the music of suffering, her eyes saw only beauty as Hermione’s outraged shrieks split the air while her body swayed and convulsed in its bondage. It was a make or break moment. Would Hermione embrace flagellation, or reject it? Felicity stood close again, holding Hermione’s breasts tenderly from behind.

“We can stop now... or we can go further... but if we go further you may discover things about yourself that shock you... upset you, or even disgust you... you may also gain rewards beyond all measure. It’s a risk... there’s always a risk, but the choice, you dear sweet girl, is yours.” She husked seductively into Hermione’s ear.

“Please Mistress Felicity, I want to go on... I want to try and go further.” Said Hermione meekly but sincerely, and with little hesitation.

“I can’t pretend that your decision surprises me,” laughed Felicity, letting go of Hermione’s breasts, and walking round to face her.

She stroked Hermione’s downy cheek delicately, then gave it it sharp slap that brought tears to her eyes.

“Back to your adorable little boobies, sweetheart. I’m going to change your tethers... I need to see these delicious little darlings dance for me.”

The Incarcerous spell holding Hermione adjusted itself, so that her arms were strapped together behind her back, pushing her tits out while keeping their roundness. Her nipples looked swollen and flushed already.

It sounded so innocent... _my mistress wants to make my titties dance._ The reality took Hermione to the very edge of endurance, her safe-word hovering on her open, howling lips. But she didn’t ask for mercy, she didn’t beg. Avidly, she learned the thrills, the adrenaline, the magic of the endorphin rush that could turn ferocious pain to the sweetest pleasure.

Felicity distinctly saw the moment in Hermione’s eyes when she understood the sensations properly for the first time, and a few minutes later, when understanding became addiction. She continued to give her the now powerful strokes, watching her hectically flushed boobs bobbing and bouncing in their fiery wake. Gods, this girl was good!

Mercifully she stilled the crop at last, resting her arm, and gave some attention to Hermione’s cunt, now dribbling, because a bit of wee had escaped during onslaught of the last round, but the wetness inside was pure arousal. She slid in three, then four fingers. Hermione’s pussy muscles, under the influence of Dilaxia, felt uncannily soft and elastic.

“If you need me whip your tits more, you’ll have to say so,” Felicity purred, rocking Hermione on the fulcrum of her bunched fingers... she was close to orgasm.

“But if you dare to come before I say so, you are in big trouble, missy!” Felicity snapped, detecting the signs and drawing out quickly.

Hermione groaned with disappointment, and tried to focus. This was mad, this was just too far out there... was she really going to have to beg for her poor tender little bubbies to be whipped? Then the gnawing need for physical and emotional release overtook her, the hot scary desire to feel what would happen if she was brave enough to continue.

“P... please Mistress Felicity... will you...”

“Say what you want.. don’t just ask me.”

“I want you... to hurt... my tits.” Whispered Hermione. It sounded so dreadful, an admission of such depravity it shamed her... but in the flush of shame there was a nagging pleasure too.

“I’ll listen to your pleas, but you must speak more clearly... own your desire Hermione, be proud of it. You’re doing very well,but you must ask me properly now.”

“Please Mistress Felicity... please will you whip my tits?” Hermione spoke slowly, trying to keep her voice steady. She nearly succeeded.

“I love it that you try so hard,” Felicity husked, and treated Hermione to another achingly tender kiss that made the girl’s heart and eyelashes flutter.

This time Hermione found the zone more quickly, and went much deeper into it. There was an awesome intimacy to her ordeal, two souls meeting in an unholy union, following a script of their very own. As Felicity’s strokes became harder and more relentless, every nuance of the exquisite agony was clearly etched on Hermione’s face, her tense jawline, her eyes streaming and staring, stark, wide. Her breasts danced their unholy jig, conducted by the flashing swishing riding crop, each stroke landing with stinging precision. And then in the space of a second it became perfect. The ultimate marriage of pain and raw endurance, with the bliss of acceptance and submission, topped off by the chemical cocktail she had consumed. Hermione cried out, her voice as stark as her face as she underwent a form of possession. There was this other Hermione who despite all appearances had lived on the edge for a long time, and who now missed the mortal danger. Eye to eye with Mistress Felicity, panting, trying not to cry too much, but... ‘ _ohhh... it hurts it throbs. But here comes a wave of the stuff that my body makes, and that Mistress Felicity has made for me. Oh god that’s..’_

“Please make it... don’t... stop...” ‘ _she knows exactly that I’m at my peak, I can’t speak properly anymore... She knows what I need now, but will she give it to me?’_

Literally reading the girl’s mind, Felicity flicked the crop almost casually between Hermione’s legs, the tongue slapping flat against her wet cunt and pulsing clit. Hermione squealed high and frantic, beyond words. Again, the moist slap of leather on outraged flesh... she was on the very brink now, poised on the top of the mountain of an excruciating victory.

“You may come with the next one!” Cried Felicity exultantly, in a state of ecstasy herself, because no girl had ever matched her desire so precisely before.

‘ _Swwwaaappp_!’

The third stroke landed flat on her cunt, not needing to be hard at all, and Hermione came, howling, her body in near epileptic convulsions. It was an orgasm that rewrote the book, showing her the dark seductive heart of another kind of sex, where pain and pleasure were equals, where coming was a savage redemption, the reward for being strong enough... or weak enough.

Even though she desperately wanted to hold Hermione in her arms and feed off her glory as she came, Felicity stood back, watching, drinking in the sight of the girl’s lonely sexual revolution. It was important that she did not interfere with the purity of what she had created. Hermione had to learn, to understand her own amazing capabilities before they could fully share the moment.

A final shudder wracked Hermione’s tightly bound body, and then she became quiet and limp, just the occasional sob and sniffle as evidence of what she had just been through. Felicity twitched her wand. Hermione fell weakly to her knees, the ties sliding from her.

“Look at me...” Felicity prompted her.

Eyes still swimming, Hermione looked up. Felicity was standing directly in front of her, her eyes climbed the long, shapely legs, the neat dark triangle, the small hard nipples on her tiny breasts, and the hazel and black eyes burning into hers.

“Now you must make me come, too!” Felicity rasped, grasping Hermione’s head and forcing it to her sex.

Hermione smelled her, the erotic animal kick of an aroused pussy, and she desperately wanted to please Mistress Felicity, who had just taught her one of the most important lessons of her life. She kissed the pussy like an open mouth. It was lush, with pronounced fleshy lips, and a prominent clit. She lapped at the folds, teasing them open, and then suddenly hungry for her mistress’s pleasure and thirsty for her juice, forgetting her exhaustion she thrust three fingers into her, flickered her tongue over the throbbing bud, and frigged her fingers fast in the tropical garden of desire until Felicity whinnied like a female centaur in heat and came, thrusting herself hard onto Hermione’s wet face, grinding out her glorious spasms, earned so patiently, and given with deep gratitude.


	8. A Deeper Shade of Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's personal tutorial continues...

At last they could cling together on the divan, and now Hermione could sob into Felicity’s chest from the delayed shock that followed her incredible BDSM initiation, while Felicity comforted her and told her what a good girl she had been so far; how much she had pleased her mistress, and that made Hermione very happy. They drank more of the champagne potion, Hermione took several refills, and it revived them, Hermione especially. She knew that the experience wasn’t over, there was more in store. The douche and enema had been for a reason. She felt like she was glowing all over, as the red stripes faded to a rosy sheen on her unbroken skin. Her outsides had been taught their lesson. It would be her insides next. She found herself watching Felicity’s hands as they smoothed murtlap juice onto her bruises, making them magically fade, leaving only a pink glow on the skin. Such supple, capable hands, and she couldn’t help conjecturing. Was Felicity left or right handed? She had switched hands sometimes with the crop...

‘ _I think she favoured the left... all her fingernails are very short... proper lesbian fingernails, as Millie calls them... she’s Millie’s mum...now she’s my world... will she enter me with that? Oh please yes. Oh make it soon! She made me yearn for the whip, but will she feed my other new addiction? Where did it come from? It’s like an itch inside me... I need to feed it... to feel her. I’m still watching her hands... let me caress them... kiss those long fingers, suck on them... oh gods I need her... to feel her inside me...’_

Hermione became aware as she made love to Felicity’s hands, that her Mistress was speaking softly.

“What you have, that yearning sensation, you don’t know yet if it’s a weakness or a strength. Is it good that you want it, is it bad? We both know what you want me to do... just look at you! You’re really starting to crave it, aren’t you? That doesn’t happen often... hardly ever... but you are truly exceptional, Hermione Granger.”

As Felicity spoke, one of her hands slipped down between Hermione’s thighs. Hermione whimpered, her eyes pleading, not daring to put it into words, in case it was the wrong moment and she was about to earn another thrashing.

“You’ve been so good... I think we both deserve a little treat!” Felicity purred, sitting up. She picked up a bottle and dribbled lube all over her fingers until they glistened before Hermione’s hot, hungry eyes, then quickly travelled down to meet the other lube with which Felicity had anointed the inside of Hermione’s pussy earlier. Felicity found that the orchid had blossomed considerably and was now tuned to perfect pitch by the potions, so she entered gently, unhurriedly, one finger at a time until Hermione felt rather full, but never less than fervently happy with the attentions of her Mistress...

She had survived her ordeal by pain, to her shock she had deeply enjoyed almost all of it, but more to the point, its pitiless path had led to this. Felicity’s hand was quite a bit bigger than Pansy’s or Astoria’s, the size difference was the first time she’d thought of Pansy since she first arrived, but the image was a dim shadow of a girl she might once have known long ago, and it faded quickly, so her focus returned as Felicity’s left hand, the knuckles pressing against her, making her spread her legs wider, and restlessly reach for her Mistress’s wrist to try and pull her safely inside.

Sinuously, with a soft, lubricious sigh, Felicity’s hand entered Hermione’s sweetly yielding pussy. Felicity smiled. It was almost too good. It felt like a homecoming. Like she was meant to be here. They were the perfect fit.

Hermione had never felt so full, or so fulfilled. And she was pretty sure that it was only going to get better! She propped herself up on her elbows, and gazed down her body, between her still hectically flushed breasts, across her tummy, to where Mistress Felicity began, at the centre of herbed gimp, between her splayed thighs. She didn’t care what had led her here, what had come before, or what would happen after. This moment was all that mattered... her wonderful new mistress inside her, fucking her... loving her...

Felicity deduced from Hermione’s reactions that the potions were now peaking. This was their moment. Physically joined, a creature with two bodies, two souls, one purpose... she had made her fist as she entered. Now she gently moved her knuckles against the tightly clasping inner flesh, back and forth, first finding space, then making it where none had existed before. She felt Hermione’s shivers, her involuntary shudders of pleasure, through the muscles of her tunnel. She was so hot inside, almost scalding... so lush... the strokes lengthened by degrees, widening her vulva, then thrusting, watching it sink within... she saw Hermione’s tummy moving to the thrusts, a little ridge rising when she pressed upwards... Hermione touched the moving bulge and moaned, her eyes fathomless pools of desire.

It was all so easy that Felicity soon became curious, and more hopeful than she had dared to be. While still fisting rhythmically, she dabbled her free forefinger against the tiny winking eye of Hermione’s anus, and with just a little push, it popped inside. Hermione gasped and shook, and loved the new intrusion.

“Oh Mistress.... yesss!” She cried, writhing onto the thrusting finger, tensing her pussy around the plunging fist and then relaxing it. A wicked inspiration flowered in her brain, a conjecture becoming a hope, a new desire.

Quickly concentrating, using legilimency to look into Hermione’s mind, Felicity was amazed to find her so sexualised there was barely any room for conscious or rational thought. What little remained made Felicity hunger even more to have the girl for her very own exclusive plaything. Her instincts had never been more right. Every step of the way in this seduction, Felicity had expected little, but hoped for the best. From that first ensnaring waft of Hermione’s unique perfumed aura outside Flourish & Blott’s, last summer... that tremor in her heart (she was sure Hermione had felt it too, her step had definitely faltered), the sensation of animals recognising their perfect counterpart, to this moment...

It had taken subtle planning, a little careful mental engineering, a lot of old-fashioned patience and a small portion of luck. She’d had to wait, first and foremost, until the war was over, and hope that the light triumphed over the dark. Then she’d shamelessly used people. First her daughter Millie, then, when Millie told her of Pansy’s growing fascination with Hermione, she had used her too, perhaps a little too successfully, but she was the perfect scapegoat. The girl had had some reward for her unwitting assistance, Felicity had sheltered her and fed her when no one else would, albeit with a fake veneer of reluctance. She’d also read her mind, and been ready to manipulate her into the right direction if necessary, butPansy hadn’t needed any pushing, and Hermione had taken the first step of her own accord. As Felicity had predicted, in the end Hermione had beenbrought here of her own free will.

Felicity felt no regrets and no guilt, despite the fact that she had no intention of letting Pansy’s relationship with Hermione go on any longer than was absolutely necessary. Even the little of it Felicity had even left to luck had been assisted by the drop of Felix Felicis she had placed on her tongue with a pipette just before Hermione entered her chamber. What point was there in witchcraft, if you didn’t use it to help you gain your hearts desire, once in a while?

Felicity departed from Hermione’s mind, and concentrated once again on steering her towards the exhilarating point between frustration and triumph, though she felt there was little chance of failure with this remarkable girl.

The finger in Hermione’s bum became two fingers… she was so relaxed and aroused now, so open and stoned and soft… She was cooing to herself incoherently, and slowly squirming. She’d been scared for a moment, but the fear was passing, there was an image in her mind, from one of her parents’ lesbian porn magazines… it had upset her at first, but she’d had to go back to it, because it fascinated and intrigued her... it had shown a woman with an ecstatic expression in her face and her hand up her own bum!She didn’t know why it affected her so, but Hermione knew her mind would require her body to do everything within its means to achieve some kind of version of that thing. Especially if it wasn’t her own hand doing it... She would just trust herself, as well as her Mistress.

To her brief disappointment, the hand in her pussy that had been giving her such bliss withdrew, but it was to allow Felicity to experiment more freely in her bum. She closed her eyes and journeyed within for a while, feeling more lube being added, a silky, warm sensation. Then fingers, lots of fingers… fingers from both hands that prised her open, and held her that way. Then back to one complete set of fingers, and the thrusting began, steady, firm, in a rhythm that seemed to match her heartbeat. She felt so dreamy, so light and free, her body like gossamer… she touched herself, her nipples, her pussy… every contact was so ineffably sweet… and the feeling inside was even sweeter… How open must her bum be by now? Hermione wished she knew....

The sweetness began to sharpen as Felicity’s hand widened. Hermione had only had bum-sex once before... very recently she thought, but she couldn’t quite recall when... she had definitely enjoyed it though. She felt pressure, a lot of pressure in her bottom, and with it the challenge of pain, not enough for her safe-word, but enough to make her whine and wince. She moved her hips to try and help Felicity enter, pushing onto her, straining as if she was trying to expel her, when what she wanted was the opposite of that. Wasn’t there something she had done when she felt like this before? Hadn’t she inhaled a potion that worked like... magic? She giggled, vaguely recalling that it had been Muggle magic.

“I need... something... to get me there...” Hermione panted, certain that she didn’t want this to stop, only to help it succeed.

Felicity dived momentarily into Hermione’s mind, and saw an image of a small brown bottle, smelled the ghost of a chemical odour, and felt a memory of euphoria. She wasn’t going to be hidebound about muggle concoctions if they helped her cause.

“You know what it is you need. Summon it.” She ordered Hermione.

“Accio Poppers!” The girl cried at once. There was the sound of a beaded bag being disturbed and suddenly the bottle Felicity had seen in Hermione’s head was in her hand.

“Do what you need to do, Hermione.” Felicity said brusquely.

Hermione opened the bottle, held it to her nose, closed one nostril, inhaled deeply, and again on the other side. She held her breath through a brief hiatus, and then, as the drug really began to work, all she wanted was for Felicity’s hand to enter her, and fuck her silly...

“PLEASE! NOW! DO IT NOW!” Hermione shrieked, sensing the moment.

Felicity felt muscles that had been fighting her suddenly change their minds and cooperate.

“Oh Merlin... you feel fantastic!” She could help herself exclaiming.

She thrust harder, twisting her hand as it began to move, to cross the crucial point. She heard two more deep sniffs and a long wail of wonder as Hermione exhaled. Her arse had surrendered to Felicity, and admitted her entire hand. The dominatrix smiled. Sometimes, very occasionally, the sub knew best. How glorious it felt to be inside Hermione again, and in this profane place. For the lucky ones, anal sex was all about pleasure. Sex for the pussy would always be linked, even if symbolically, with procreation, but for a few women and quite a lot of men, gay men especially but not exclusively, anal penetration was the natural avenue to an even deeper, purely erotic gratification. It was no surprise to Felicity that Hermione Granger was one of the lucky few.

“Thank you Mistress... It feels... wonderful!” Hermione gasped, because it did.

The perfect response from a perfect girl, thought Felicity, falling a little more in love. She was now wrist deep in Hermione Granger’s exquisite bottom!

“Please Mistress... please fuck my bum!”

How adorable could a girl be? Thought Felicity indulgently, and began making slow strokes that delved further into tender but pliant bowels.

Something about being fucked like this, being fisted in the arse, was like the apogee of everything wonderful Hermione had felt during her strange summer. She let herself go completely, surrendering her senses, and was rewarded with a spiral of rapture that spun higher and higher, as Felicity’s thrusts grew stronger, deeper, faster. She lost herself in it, becoming one with the pleasure, her body glowing with unearthly delight. Eventually It dawned upon her that she was about to come, that it would take the briefest caress of her clit to complete her journey. She remembered Mistress Felicity’s order that she must not come until she was given permission, and groaned with frustration.

Felicity was in a generous mood. She had already achieved much more than she’d anticipated for this, the first of what she hoped would be many encounters with the extraordinary Granger girl. She was expecting another visitor soon, and he would want a full report. He certainly had a treat in store! Felicity smiled to herself.

“Sweetie wants to come, doesn’t she?” She purred.

“Yes please Mistress!”

Driving her fist in as deep as she could, Felicity was astonished do see that several inches of her forearm were now buried in Hermione’s fundament as well. Were there no limits to this girl? She took Hermione’s pussy with her mouth, lapping tonguing, tasting, inhaling her dizzying perfume deeply to keep her strong in future memories. She arrived finally at the precious bud of Hermione’s clit. It was time to finish her.

“You may come... as soon as you like,” she husked gaily, and flickered her tongue over the tiny organ of pleasure as rapidly as a hummingbird’s wing.

Hermione felt as if her body was spontaneously combusting with ecstasy. She clamped hard on Felicity’s arm with each astounding spasm of rapture. When Felicity pulled her fist out fast, her cunt spat its ejaculate into her lover’s mouth. Wave after wave of bliss rolled over her, annihilating her senses until she fell back, barely conscious upon the bed. Seconds later, as Felicity flicked her wand, Hermione fell into a deep trance.

“You will return to your friends, and you will remember our meeting as a detailed dream... until I summon you again. Now, drink your potion, it’ll help you to sleep.”

It had never been so hard, letting a girl go, but Felicity didn’t want to make any mistakes with this one. To truly win her heart, as well as her mind and body, she would need patience and skill, but it would surely be worth it. She held both Hermione’s hands, spoke the complex incantations that would both bind and free different parts of her memory, and sent her to the bathroom with a final affectionate pat on the plump peach of her perfectly-fucked behind.

__________

In a sleepwalker haze, Hermione had a pee, wiped herself, and returned to the big bed. As she snuggled up to Pansy, her memories of Felicity had already retreated into what appeared to be a vivid chapter of her dreamscape. A phrase uttered near the conclusion of the dream stayed with her: “The mind may forget, but the flesh remembers.” She wondered what it meant, and she wondered about the darkly beautiful lady of her dream.

By slight mischance Hermione encountered Millie’s mother in the hall just as she and Pansy were leaving. A male guest had just arrived, but Felicity Bulstrode flashed Hermione a look that shook her to her core. Her instant conjecture was impossible of course. Surely, she must have seen Madame Bulstrode in another place, at another time, otherwise, how could she have been the perfect match for the dark lady?

“Oh, Hermione, how nice to meet you at last! Millie told me that you were staying the night. I’d just like to say that you are welcome here anytime at all,” Felicity trilled warmly, improvising furiously. “But if you will excuse me, I have an appointment.” She smiled at the tall, thin, grey haired wizard who had just arrived, and ushered him quickly into the east wing.

__________

“So Felicity, how did it go? Was she as good as you look this morning? Was she the dream date you hoped for?”

“If you follow me to my Pensieve, Jonathan, I’ll let you see for yourself,” Felicity replied, smiling archly. She pressed the tip of her wand to her head, drew out the silvery strand of memory, and dropped it into the misty swirling surface of the disc. She dived in and Master Jonathan followed her.

When they emerged a while later, they crashed into each other in a crescendo of lust. Felicity felt her friend and colleague’s long, rigid cock pressing against her belly, and rubbed its still clothed head through his robes with the back of her hand.

“Merlin’s beard, she’s astonishing... she hardly needs added magic! It’s there... inside her already. Is she the one we’ve been looking for? That remains to be seen, but she is very close to it already, the closest in several decades.” Master Jonathan panted as he felt his erection being freed from its confines by Felicity’s eager hands.

Felicity, lifelong bisexual, in the wake of so much self-control in the face of Hermione’s hyper-arousing presence, was hungry for cock.


End file.
